


Petrichor

by Shaples



Series: Petr(ichor) [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Animal Death, Animal Transformation, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Domestic Fluff, For Real Body Horror, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polyamory, Psychic Bond, Vampires, Werewolves, but like...tender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-07 23:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 63,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaples/pseuds/Shaples
Summary: When Iwaizumi stumbles into a vampire den on the night of the full moon, it seems like his luck has gone from bad to worse. But Oikawa is more than the lurking predator he tries to be, and promises to upend Iwaizumi's lone wolf existence before the sun rises. Iwaizumi POV, companion to Ichor.





	1. Westbound

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place in the same universe as [Second Skin](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5119838/chapters/11778641), a little more than a decade before the events of that fic. Companion to [Ichor](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243357/chapters/27818151) by [carriecmoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney)

Iwaizumi was twenty miles west of Baton Rouge when he heard a muffled burst and his semi veered sharply to the right. A blowout. Perfect. Because he needed one more thing to go wrong tonight. He clenched his jaw and eased on the gas, working against the tug on his steering wheel to correct the truck’s course, then pulled onto the shoulder and parked. He was three and a half hours outside Houston and moonrise was in two hours and fifty three minutes. Fifty two. He unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the cab. Sweat started to prickle on his skin the second his feet touched the pavement, the heat and humidity in the air so heavy they were almost palpable. It made him hyper-aware of every hair and pore on his body, of the itch beneath his skin anxious to claw its way out. He did his best to ignore it.

This late, the two-lane highway was deserted, but he still checked both ways before dashing around the front of the truck. He knew exactly what had happened, but the sight of the ruined tire still made his stomach go cold. The shredded strips of rubber were letting out a hazy, burnt-smelling smoke. He stared at the mess for a long moment before shouting, “FUCK!” He kicked the tire and threaded his hands in his hair, pulling it in frustration. He wasn’t going to make it to Houston.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, flipped it open, and held it up, but he was in the middle of fucking nowhere, too far outside the city for more than one flickering bar. He paced back and forth, lifting the phone higher, angling it, praying for the bar to steady, not even daring to hope for a second one, but no. No reception. He flipped the phone shut and took a slow breath, forcing himself not to clench his fist down on the fragile plastic. He pulled open the passenger’s side of the truck and hauled himself into it, then started rummaging around in the glove compartment, looking for a map. He ran this route all the time, but made a point never to spend the night in Louisiana. He had people he could call at every stop from Durham to El Paso, but this stretch of I-10 was a dead zone - literally. The vampires played by different rules.

He unfolded the map on the dashboard, weighing one corner down with his phone and smoothing the other out with his palm. If there was one thing Louisiana had, it was overgrown places he could hide out in, and sure enough, a quick scan of the map revealed that he was barely a handful of miles outside a wildlife refuge. But there was no telling who else he might find there, and he couldn’t just leave a truck with the better part of a million dollars in merchandise abandoned on the highway overnight. They were expecting him before dawn, expecting to have enough time to get the cars on the lot before the dealership opened. He slammed his hand on the dashboard and swore again. It wasn’t even his fucking delivery to make – someone had called in at the last minute, and his boss had said: cover the route, or find a new job. And it wasn’t like he could just say, sorry boss, no can do, full moon tonight,  _ you _ know how it is. Because his boss  _ didn’t _ know, and Iwaizumi had gone to a lot of trouble to keep it that way.

What were even the chances of getting a tow at this hour? He wouldn’t be able to get the tire replaced until morning, but if he could get the truck off the road, he might have time to find somewhere safe to ride out his shift. He flipped open his phone and looked at the screen again. Still no bars. He wasn’t going anywhere if he couldn’t make the call. He jammed his phone in his pocket and started refolding the map. When it wouldn’t bend on the creases, he let out a seething breath and crammed the whole thing back in the glove box and slammed it shut, kicked the cab door open, and jumped back out of the truck onto the shoulder. According to the map, he was still miles away from the next rest stop, and he didn’t want to rely on the uncertain hope of finding a working payphone there. He thought he remembered seeing a truck stop off the side of the highway a few miles back, and heading back toward the city seemed like a safer bet either way. With any luck, he’d bump into an emergency call box before he got that far. He double checked the doors on his truck to make sure they were locked, then started walking back the way he came.  

Even after midnight he could still feel heat radiating off the pavement. The swampy night air was so thick with moisture it made his breathing sluggish and confused his sense of smell, intensifying his awareness of the faint, distant scents carried on the breeze – bloom and decay, stagnation and-

He stopped mid-stride and turned into the wind, closing his eyes and breathing deep. It was too faint to be more than paranoia – more than nerves – but the hairs on the back of his neck pricked at the musky hint of wolf he almost-smelled on the air, there and gone too fast to pin down. He started walking faster.

Two miles on, a postal freighter zoomed past him without slowing. He wasn’t holding out hope for catching a ride (and wasn’t in any shape to take one even if he got the offer), but if another driver saw his truck at the side of the road, there was some chance at least that someone would call 911 as a courtesy, and having even one car pass by was reward enough for resisting the urge to put the truck in neutral and drag the fucker to the next rest stop by himself.

He came to streetlights before he found a call box, and not long after that, he saw the truck stop he’d glimpsed in passing. Now that he was really looking, though, he realized the wide lot was empty and all the signs had been taken off the gas station. Sure enough, when he caught sight of the service sign leading up to the off ramp, the markers for  _ gas  _ and  _ food _ had been taken down, leaving only an unfamiliar logo listed under  _ lodging _ . But it was better than nothing.

With a quick glance in either direction, Iwaizumi dashed across all four empty lanes of the highway and the median in between, then jogged down the swampy grass incline that bordered the exit ramp and hopped the low chain fence that separated it from the abandoned truck stop. Up close, he could tell it had been out of use for a while: the windows on the small convenience store were boarded up, the paint was peeling off the overhang, and the dense trees had started to encroach on the edges of the lot. There was a payphone next to a metal cage that had probably once housed propane tanks, but when he picked up the receiver, there was no dial tone.

He sighed and looked back to the highway, letting his eyes follow the curve of the exit ramp. If the sign was right, there was a hotel nearby, and a hotel had an even better shot of being open and staffed at this hour than a gas station. He checked the coin return on the payphone for loose change out of habit, then started walking across the parking lot toward the road. He followed it for another half a mile before a narrow drive veered off into the trees. He almost missed the small sign with the hotel logo on it; like everything else, it was half-swallowed by the overgrowth.

At the end of the lane, he found a long, single-story motel with maybe a dozen rooms built in an oblong clearing. The building had probably been hip and new-looking sometime in the sixties, but now it was tired and faded, the paint washed out and the vintage sign short a few bulbs. It was the kind of place you wouldn’t stop for the night unless you really had to, but there was a light on in the front office, and that was all that mattered.

When Iwaizumi pulled open the front door, he was expecting avocado-green carpets and a pervasive, musty smell of age. He was less prepared for the reality – polished wood floors and wood paneling on the walls, expensive looking rugs, and a big candle-style chandelier illuminating it all. It was unbelievably tacky and unsettlingly out of place, like someone had tried to dress up the Bates Motel to look like the hotel from  _ The Shining _ . The front desk was wide and grand – big enough for an actual hotel – but there was no one sitting behind it. Iwaizumi rang the bell and waited, but no one came. If there’d been a phone sitting on top of the desk, he might have risked grabbing it and making a call, but he didn't see one, and wasn't quite desperate enough to climb over the counter to look. There hadn’t been a payphone outside the building, either.

When minutes passed and still no one came, he started peering down the halls, looking for signs of life. To one side of the front desk was an enclave with a vending machine (broken), and to the other was a long hallway that led, presumably, to the rooms (deserted). Just beyond the desk, though, he found a beautifully carved wooden door with a small metal placard that read: Bar. He could hear muffled sound coming from the other side – music, maybe – and after a moment’s hesitation, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The bar was, if it was possible, even gaudier than the lobby – the walls draped with rich red fabric, a genuine mahogany bar running the length of one wall, and petite crystal chandeliers casting a dim light over the wide room. And, he realized, the music he’d heard was actually someone playing an honest-to-god grand piano at the far end of the bar. It was outrageously incongruous, not only with the exterior of the building and its location, but with the fact that there were only two other, poorly-dressed people there, both of them draped drunkenly over their tabletops. It was almost like-

-like the way you might decorate if you were a vampire making absolutely no attempt to pretend you weren’t a vampire.

He breathed in. The two people at the tables weren’t drunk, or sleeping. His eyes shifted back to the pianist, whose playing hadn’t faltered. Who hadn’t acknowledged his presence at all, in fact, but who was wearing a very small smile. He had elegant hands with long, graceful fingers, and played like he’d had a lot of practice. Just as Iwaizumi caught himself staring, the pianist’s gaze slid in his direction, a movement of eyes rather than a turn of head. It was just the barest sidelong glance, but there was hunger in it.

It was too late to leave. Iwaizumi knew, academically, that vampires were fast, but he didn’t have the practical experience to know if “fast” meant  _ pinned to the door as soon as you turn around  _ or  _ chased out into the parking lot and gutted like an animal _ . Too fast, either way. He took a breath, walked past the bar, and followed the sign around the corner to the bathrooms. There was a payphone hung on the wall between the two bathroom doors, and he picked up the receiver and put it to his ear.

No dial tone.

He pressed down the hook, then let it up. Still nothing. He tried once more, but the line was dead. It was still a little less than two hours until moonrise, but even if he was able to force the shift early, he wouldn’t be able to do it fast enough for it to matter. If he was going to fight, it was going to have to be as a human. He breathed out and set the receiver back on the cradle, found a quarter in the coin return, put it in his pocket, and headed back into the bar.  

The pianist was now the bartender, graceful hands drying an old fashioned glass with a clean white towel. Iwaizumi sat down on the barstool across from him. “What’s your poison?” the vampire asked, his voice like honey with hooks in it.

“Actually,” Iwaizumi said, because if he was going to die anyway, there was no point in beating around the bush, “I was hoping I could use your phone.”

“Paying customers only,” he said, sounding  _ so _ apologetic.

“I’ll pay you twenty bucks to let me use your phone.”

He  _ tsk _ ed, soft and scolding, then drawled, “You ain’t from around here, are y’all?”

Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know anyone that sounded that Southern that wasn’t trying too hard. “Alabama, actually,” he said dryly. “I’ll have a bourbon, neat. Can I use your phone?”

The vampire gave the glass a final wipe before setting it down in front of Iwaizumi and filling it. “In a hurry?”

“Just to make that phone call,” he said, swirling the liquid in the glass and trying to remember what hospitality rules vampires played by. He was pretty sure taking the drink wouldn’t protect him against his host, but he was less sure it wouldn’t oblige him to stay.

“What seems to be the trouble…” his eyes flicked down to the patch stitched onto the breast of Iwaizumi’s work shirt, “Hajime?” He said it the way no one but Iwaizumi’s mother ever did – smooth and fluid, the syllables familiar on his tongue, somewhere halfway between fond and teasingly reprimanding. Most people gave up after two tries and just called him “Jimmy.” It made Iwaizumi give him a second look, a quick glance at his eyes before he could check the impulse, then down to his lips, which wasn’t better. He leveled his gaze resolutely at the sharp line of the vampire’s cheekbone. The vampire’s mouth quirked, the hint of a smile, and he added with the little lilt of a question, “I.?”

“Iwaizumi,” he said, a second before thinking better of it.

“You wouldn’t think they’d need to use an initial,” he said, pouring himself some bourbon. He rolled the edge of the glass thoughtfully along his lower lip. “I don’t imagine there are too many Hajimes in Alabama.”

“I’m the only one I know,” he said.

The vampire hummed eloquently, amused and agreeing, and lifted his glass, “Oikawa Tooru. Yoroshiku onegaishimasu.”

If this guy – Oikawa – had any Japanese in him, it was as far-flung and watered down as Iwaizumi’s, but even with the flippant, ironic tone, the language suited him better than his overwrought drawl. Iwaizumi breathed out a soft laugh, lifted his glass, and clinked it against Oikawa’s, “Yoroshiku.”

He was surprised when Oikawa drained his glass in one long swallow, emptying it and leaving no room to suspect that he’d faked a polite sip. And if he was going to drink… Fuck it. Iwaizumi tossed back his bourbon. It wasn’t top shelf, but it was pretty good. “Now that we’re drinking buddies,” Oikawa said, leaning casually up against the bar, “you gonna tell me why you’re darkening my doorway this lovely evening, puppy?”

Iwaizumi smirked. It was like Oikawa had flashed the cards in his hand and winked, to make sure they were playing the same game. And since the game didn’t seem to involve either of them tearing the other’s throat out just yet, he said, “Blew a tire on my truck maybe two and a half, three miles west on I-10.”

Oikawa made a sympathetic sound, refilling Iwaizumi’s glass. “Hoping to call a cab, then?”

“A tow truck, actually.”

“Mmm, you sure? If you left now, you might make it to Homochitto.”

Underneath the reminder that he was trespassing, it was a surprisingly apt suggestion. Homochitto National Forest was the closest sizeable stretch of woodlands outside Louisiana state lines, and probably the only one he had a prayer of a chance of reaching before he started to turn. Any other route out of the state, he’d shift before he hit the border. Oikawa knew it, and knew that he knew it, too. Iwaizumi took a moment to consider. The tourism in New Orleans was enough to sustain the highest vampire population in the south outside Orlando, but unlike Florida – which was mostly new blood and spread out enough for the vampires and shapeshifters to keep to themselves – Louisiana was run by vampires who were very old and  _ very  _ territorial. All the major packs in the state were blood-bound to one leech or another, and if you weren’t pack-allied, you weren’t welcome. There were probably a handful of smaller packs, maybe a few pockets of loners, but without knowing who ran where, just being within state lines on the night of a full moon was all but asking to get attacked.

It was impossible to guess Oikawa’s age, but if he was a vampire of any standing, he probably had control of at least one pack – and if he did, he could probably, maybe, give him permission to run in his territory for the night. But he wouldn’t do it out of the kindness of his heart. In fact, it was entirely possible that he was stalling, cutting Iwaizumi’s options by running down the clock. If he was, there wasn’t anything Iwaizumi could do about it. If he tried to leave and Oikawa didn’t want him to, he wasn’t going to make it very far. Then again, if Oikawa wanted him out of the state, he wouldn’t keep trying to stall him.

“Can’t just leave my rig in the road,” he said finally. “If you’d let me use your phone, though, I’m sure I could get myself a lift. I know a few of the guys up by Homochitto that wouldn’t mind having me.” A handful of werebears that owned a bar in Jackson had the southern portion of the park on lockdown, but he’d managed to drink their big white-haired bouncer under the table enough times to earn himself an open invitation to run with them whenever he was in the area.

He could tell Oikawa hadn’t expected that, the subtle shift of his eyebrows revealing that he was maybe even just a tiny bit impressed. “I take it you were headed that way already?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Just came from there. I was on my way to Houston.”

“Houston?” Oikawa parroted back at him, and this time surprise flashed across his face, too plain to hide, before he was able to school his expression. “I was under the impression that Houston was predominantly feline-controlled.”

It was, and the pack that ran the east side of Texas was notoriously exclusive and aggressively territorial. But he and the packmaster were close; when he didn’t run with them, he usually rode out his shift in one of the pack’s heavily reinforced, soundproof storage units scattered throughout the state. Out loud, Iwaizumi said with a shrug, “I’m not picky about who I run with.”

It was a card well played, he could tell from the subtle curve of Oikawa’s lips. “And good at making friends.”

“I’m a friendly guy,” he said, letting something not so friendly show in his smile as he stood. He picked up his glass and swallowed down the last of his bourbon, then tossed some cash on the bartop. “Thanks for the drinks.”

“I can get your truck to Houston,” Oikawa said, plain and flat, no bullshit, smile dropping.

“And?” he said, looking at Oikawa expectantly.

He only realized he’d looked him in the eyes again when Oikawa said, “I can give you anything you want.” He felt the pull of it, more than words, like hot fingertips on his skin, like hazy lights and wisps of steam, sparks in the periphery of his awareness. He was momentarily drawn in by it, felt the pull of his breath leaving his body, his vision narrowing down to the sly promise in Oikawa’s heavy-lidded eyes. His feet were moving on their own, making him lean into the bar, bringing him closer to Oikawa, solidifying the ghosts of lips and hands, the phantoms of soft, short breaths dancing through his mind.

He could feel himself falling, but he could still see the trap. He slammed his hand down on the bar hard enough to make his palm sting, forcing himself to focus on the pain and tear his eyes away from Oikawa’s. He blindly grabbed Oikawa by the front of his shirt and jerked him forward, then growled, “I want to make a fucking phone call.”

Oikawa’s eyes widened minutely, and then he laughed, loud and genuine. The whispering, dreamy feeling sloughed away, but Iwaizumi’s skin was still prickling, like someone had breathed, softly, on every inch of his body at once.

“You’re going to break my heart, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa said, then stumbled a little when Iwaizumi let go of his shirt and shoved him backwards.

“Your mind games won’t work on me,” he said, only falling back a step before forcing himself to stand his ground.

Oikawa leaned forward on the bar, wearing a lazy smile and resting his cheek on one hand, “No, they won’t.” He looked smug and self-satisfied, a sated cat with a feather sticking out of its mouth. “An illusion’s no good when what you want is right in front of you.”

Iwaizumi grit his teeth, refusing to rise to the bait. “I think I’ll take my chances with your pack.” Oikawa’s smile faltered, just a little. “That’s who I smelled on my way here, right? Up in the wildlife refuge?”

The smile came back, but it was a little less genuine-looking. “I don’t think even your diplomatic skills are a match for my bloodhounds.”

“I’ll take my chances,” he said again, and this time he put his back to Oikawa and started for the door.

“They’ll kill you, Hajime.” The way he said it made Iwaizumi stop in his tracks, because it didn’t sound like a gambit – he sounded tired and resigned. “The reason you smelled wolves is because the leader of the pack doesn’t turn back except for the week around the new moon. He’s completely rabid, and the others are too afraid go against him.” Iwaizumi’s shoulders stiffened. It was the politest-possible way of saying the packmaster was a flesh eater. He had to resist the urge to let his eyes wander over to the bodies still slumped on the tabletops. So it was true; the Louisiana vampires really did use wolves as their own personal garbage disposals.

Iwaizumi clenched his fists, “Are the others-”

“No,” Oikawa said flatly, “and for what it’s worth, he was… a  _ gift _ .” The word had an edge to it that made it very clear the “gift” had been unwanted. Before Iwaizumi could ask why he didn’t put the beast out of his misery, Oikawa added, voice dripping with disdain, “From the Bishop.”

Iwaizumi sighed. He’d spent years trying to stay as far away from pack and pact politics as possible, but one blown out tire and he’d stepped right in it. “How big is your pack?”

“Seven wolves total.” If it was true, it was a big pack – too big for the patch of land they had to run in – and with a vampire-appointed rogue werewolf leading it, it stank of the worst kind of gamesmanship. Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose in distaste, but Oikawa didn’t seem to notice. “I could mark you as a pack member, but even if I did, without an introduction I think Mad-Dog-chan would tear you to shreds.”

“What’s your offer?” Iwaizumi asked. He was running out of options, but the fact that Oikawa had tried to mind control him meant there was something he wanted that he couldn’t take by force. Iwaizumi just had to figure out what it was.

“I’ll get your truck to Houston and no one will know it wasn’t you who drove it. And I’ll give you a room where you can ride out your shift, and safe passage until sunset.”

“What’s your price?”

“One pint.”

It was Iwaizumi’s turn to show his surprise. “A pint,” he repeated. “Of my blood?”

Oikawa gave a small nod. “From the vein, or no deal.”

He took a moment to survey Oikawa’s expression, careful not to look him directly in the eye. He knew there was a trap somewhere in the offer, but he needed time to find it. He needed to stall. “Show me the room.”

“Of course,” Oikawa said. He stood and walked around the bar, passing Iwaizumi at a casual distance, then gave a flick of his hand, motioning for him to follow.

Oikawa’s movements were smooth and graceful; he knew how to carry himself, and how to draw attention to his… assets. Iwaizumi forced himself to look up at the back of Oikawa’s head. He was a few inches taller than him, which Iwaizumi found inexplicably infuriating, broad through the shoulders and lean in the hips and, shit, he was staring at his ass again. Iwaizumi dropped his gaze to the ugly carpet and forced himself to think. If all Oikawa wanted was his blood, he could easily have taken it by force – and more than just a pint. Which meant he had something else to gain. Was it the bite itself? But no – as far as he understood it, establishing a blood bond was more involved than just a bite or a fluid exchange. It was possible Oikawa wanted to trap him in his safe room – which was why he’d asked to see it before agreeing – but again, if vampires were as strong and fast as he’d been told, Oikawa wouldn’t have even needed to negotiate; he should have been able to just take whatever he wanted.

But he hadn’t, and for the first time it occurred to Iwaizumi that, just maybe, it was because he couldn’t.

Oikawa had drained and killed two humans earlier that night, which was strange enough by itself; he’d shown genuine-seeming distaste for the idea of feeding corpses to his hounds, and his location paired with his mind control abilities should have guaranteed him a steady and discreet supply of blood, assuming he played catch and release with his customers. Instead, he had two fresh bodies on his hands and was, apparently, still hungry after drinking both of them dry. That was, what, close to three gallons of blood? He should have been glutted, but instead he had a starved look in his eyes. It didn’t add up.

Iwaizumi walked half a step faster, narrowing the distance between them, then took as deep a breath as he dared to without being conspicuous about it. He caught it on his third controlled inhale – the subtle, cloying stench of decay, almost imperceptible beneath a layer of tasteful, expensive cologne. Oikawa was hurt.

For a brief moment, he considered turning around and bolting. He wasn’t certain he could outrun Oikawa, but he was pretty sure, now, that he could outmuscle him, which made speed less important. Even if he could get away, though, he didn’t have anywhere else to go. He still didn’t have a working phone, there was no safe place for him to hide, and he was running out of time to find a solution. The offer Oikawa had made him was the best one he could hope for; no other vampire would be so quick to cut a deal, and he doubted a blood-maddened werewolf would give him a fair shake, either. Oikawa’s offer was a fair one, and his injury – whatever it was – gave Iwaizumi all the bargaining power.

They reached the end of the hall and Oikawa unlocked the last door – room 13, because of course it was – and as soon as he opened it, Iwaizumi realized the motel’s resemblance to the Overlook Hotel was more than just coincidental, because Oikawa’s room looked exactly like the hotel room from  _ Interview with the Vampire _ : walls papered in gold and red, opulent furniture and heavy curtains done in red silk and velvet and brocade, polished wood floors, brass chandeliers and unlit candelabras, a second, somewhat smaller piano, and a lace-covered wood coffin in the center of the room in place of a coffee table.

Iwaizumi snorted. Vampires didn’t even need to sleep in coffins. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a movie guy.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oikawa said, throwing open a heavy set of curtains on the far side of the room to reveal, rather anticlimactically, a plain steel door. He wore the key on a chain around his neck, and he unfastened the clasp and slid the key free, tucking the chain in his pocket as he unlocked the door. “This key opens the lock from both sides,” he said, handing it to Iwaizumi as he pushed open the door, “and it’s the only one.” Oikawa gestured for Iwaizumi to lead the way inside. “Ladies first.”

“Age before beauty,” Iwaizumi countered.

Oikawa’s lips quirked, somewhere between irritated and amused, and he asked coyly, “Is that a question?” He didn’t wait for a response before heading through the door, and Iwaizumi followed after him. It was a squat room with concrete floors and cinderblock walls, both covered in claw marks, and there were heavy iron chains and manacles hanging from the wall that had obviously been used, frequently and recently. There was a drain in the center of the floor, and the concrete around it – and beneath the manacles – was stained. There were no windows, and only one caged light bulb in the center of the ceiling. Iwaizumi tested the key on the inside lock and tried to remember if there had been a time in his life when getting tours of people’s private dungeons would have seemed unusual or even unsettling. It had been a long time, and he’d seen a lot of private dungeons in the interim. This one wasn’t bad.

“How’s the door frame?” he asked, pressing his hand to it and putting his weight on it.

“I’ve had the door dent but never seen the frame give,” Oikawa said. “And the concrete is reinforced. You’d snap your neck on it before you broke through.” He smirked. “Of course, if you’re worried, I could always chain you up.”

“I’ll pass.”

“Too bad. You’d look good on my wall, Iwa-chan.”

“I take it you don’t have any qualms about mixing business and pleasure.”

“If there’s no pleasure in it, I want no business with it,” Oikawa said, a little too smoothly. It was a pretty good line, even if it sounded practiced.

“How do you want to do this?”

“Well, you should probably start by taking your clothes off,” Oikawa said. He didn’t sound like he was joking. When he caught Iwaizumi’s skeptical look, though, he clarified, “Unless you’re hiding a spare set of clothes somewhere, I assume you’d rather not turn in the ones you’re wearing.”

“I’ve got plenty of time before moonrise,” Iwaizumi said flatly. “I think I’ll make it.”

Oikawa let out a low, rolling chuckle. “You’ve never done this before, have you?”

He didn’t know well enough what it was he didn’t know to be able to argue without showing his ignorance, so instead he said, “But you have. I take it you have a taste for werewolf blood?”

“It has its charms.”

“They say, for a vampire, it’s like dropping acid.”

“They say a lot of things,” Oikawa said, and it was only when he pushed the door shut with a heavy clang that Iwaizumi realized they’d been circling each other. Oikawa’s posture had shifted from feline to lupine, his shoulders squared and body angled in a display of dominance and challenge that Iwaizumi had responded to on instinct. Even without eye contact, the way Oikawa moved made Iwaizumi prickle with eagerness, the giddy desire to clash and find out who would come out on top.

“Why only one pint?” Iwaizumi asked.

“Because if I’d asked for more, you would have said no, but once we get started, you’re going to beg me not to stop.”

They moved forward in tandem, closing on each other but still not touching, and Iwaizumi found himself smiling. Oikawa was good. If he hadn’t known better, he could have easily mistaken him for a wolf, and the beast inside him did – he could feel it swelling beneath his skin, reaching out and expecting an answer, eager to test itself. “You must spend a lot of time around wolves.”

“I like to watch,” Oikawa said, his smile like a knife.

They lunged at each other, grappling, a brief locking of arms before they both turned and danced back and away. Oikawa was cool to the touch and more muscular than he looked. More importantly, he was  _ strong _ , strong enough to send a little thrill up Iwaizumi’s spine. “Why not go to your pack for blood?” he asked, his voice gone rough and gravely as he and Oikawa moved in tight circles around each other, drawing ever closer together. There weren’t many shifters who dared to dance with him at all, and fewer that stood their ground even half as well as Oikawa did.

“I’m sure you’ll be surprised to hear they're not very happy with me right now,” Oikawa said. He closed the last of the distance between them and pressed his hand flat against Iwaizumi’s chest, deftly undoing the top button on his shirt. This time, he didn’t dance away.

Iwaizumi let out a low, rumbling sound that was too contented to be a growl, and it vibrated through his voice, “But are they too stupid to have noticed, or are you hiding it because you’re afraid they’ll attack you?” He pressed his hand to Oikawa’s chest, mirroring his touch, but instead of bothering with his buttons, he dug his fingertips into the spot where Oikawa’s shirt didn’t sit quite right.

His aim was good. Oikawa hissed in pain as Iwaziumi’s fingers pressed into nothing where there should have been muscle. A second later Iwaizumi was on his back on the floor, Oikawa on top of him, pinning him down, fangs fully extended, the front of his shirt darkened and damp with ichor where Iwaizumi had touched him.

Iwaizumi didn’t fight, didn’t even attempt to defend himself. He just said, “They say werewolf blood has healing properties.”

“ _ They _ should learn when to stop talking,” Oikawa said, sharp teeth turning his voice sibilant.

“I want a token of yours to grant me safe passage through the state,” he said, “and to meet with your pack on the next new moon.  For that you get my silence, and enough of my blood – one pint at a time, at my discretion – to heal yourself.”

Oikawa let out a hollow, humorless laugh. “Then you’re going to be in my service a long, long time, puppy.”

“Show me,” he said.

“I could kill you,” Oikawa said, cupping his hand around the side of Iwaizumi’s neck, pressing his thumb down, gently, on his Adam’s apple.

“Are you sure?” he asked, a little prickling thrill racing through him. He had to fight the urge to put Oikawa on his back and pin him down.

Oikawa forced Iwaizumi’s face to one side, baring his neck, and Iwaizumi let him. “Let me drink and I’ll show you.” His voice was tight with restraint – with  _ hunger _ .

“Show me and I’ll let you drink.”

Oikawa shifted his grip up so his thumb and forefinger dug into the soft spots beneath Iwaizumi’s jaw, forcing his head back, then leaned over him, pinning him to the floor. He smoothed his free hand blindly down his chest, keeping his eyes on Iwaizumi as he searched for the buttons on his shirt and plucked them open. Four buttons down, he pulled his shirt out of the way and showed him. He had a hole in his chest. It was maybe the size a pool cue would have left if it had been run right through him, but diamond-shaped and puckered instead of round, just barely off the mark from his heart. The wound was discolored around the edges and seeping a thick, dark liquid. “Another gift,” he said, “from the Bishop.”

“Silver?” Iwaizumi asked, reaching up to touch and framing the wound with his hand.

Oikawa gave a small, tight nod. “Barbed arrowhead, right next to my heart.” Iwaizumi recoiled. There wasn’t much that could leave a lasting wound on a vampire, but even a small piece of silver would burn up as much as blood as Oikawa could drink until his body ran dry. In such a sensitive place, it would be almost impossible to get out himself without running the risk of piercing his own heart. Someone else could probably remove it, but someone else could just as easily give it that last little nudge into his heart, too. “Turns out it’s a surprisingly practical and efficient way to put down a rival.”

“Fucking politics,” Iwaizumi said.

Oikawa hummed, both halfhearted agreement and dismissal, but it turned into something more contented when Iwaizumi turned his head to one side, good to his word, and offered up his neck. Oikawa leaned down over him, close enough to brush the tip of his nose along the prominent vein in Iwaizumi’s neck, inhaling deeply. “You smell like rain,” Oikawa said, the movement of his lips the barest ghost of a kiss. Iwaizumi gasped and reached up to thread his fingers in Oikawa’s hair. 

Oikawa groaned and parted his lips, and Iwaizumi could feel the points of his fangs gliding along his neck as he opened his mouth wide. Before he could bite down, though, Iwaizumi tightened his grip on Oikawa’s hair and pulled his head back. Oikawa made a curt, angry noise, but Iwaizumi held him in place and asked, “How long will the marks last?”

“It’s too bad you asked,” Oikawa said, resisting Iwaizumi’s grip by running the tip of his tongue along the side of his neck. Iwaizumi grunted, low and hot, and Oikawa snapped his teeth at him. “If you were human, they’d be gone by morning. For you, maybe a few months, depending on how rough you like it.”

“Not on the neck.”

“Unless you want a bruise that’ll last twice as long, I need an artery.” He slid a hand between them, smoothly popping the second button on Iwaizumi’s shirt. “Your wrist will work, or your elbow.” He made quick work of the rest of the buttons, then slipped his hand under the shirt, pushing it down off one shoulder and murmuring against the curve of Iwaizumi’s neck. “Or if you really want to make sure no one sees it…” His hand slid down, fingertips toying with the buckle on Iwaizumi’s belt.

“Nice try,” Iwaizumi said, catching Oikawa’s wrist and pulling his hand away.

“I was only trying to be discreet.”

“I’m sure,” Iwaizumi said.

He pushed Oikawa back and sat up, shrugging the rest the rest of the way out of his shirt. He did it quickly, so he wouldn’t get caught with his hands tied up in the sleeves, then tossed the shirt aside. He reached back over his head and hooked his thumbs in the neck of his black tanktop, but before he could start to pull it off, Oikawa said, “Stop.”

He grunted. “I don’t want to get blood on my-”

“Shut up.” Iwaizumi’s gaze jumped to Oikawa’s face before he could check the instinct. His eyes were dilated inhumanly wide, brown irises swallowed up almost completely by his pupils, and he’d gone dangerously still. “Don’t move.”

Iwaizumi froze. He’d mistaken Oikawa’s easy, graceful movement for catlike, but he was more like a snake in tall grass, so fluid he seemed boneless. The inky voids of his eyes looked hypnotized. He slid a hand along the underside of Iwaizumi’s left bicep, cool fingertips angling his arm. Iwaizumi dropped his weight back on his right arm as Oikawa leaned into him and started working slow, wet kisses to the inside of his bicep, sucking on the muscle until he found the pulse thudding beneath the skin. Oikawa closed his eyes and groaned, opening his mouth again, and this time when Iwaizumi felt the press of fangs against his flesh, he didn’t protest. He flexed his arm, and Oikawa made a rough, hungry sound and bit down, hard.

Iwaizumi had been bitten before, but not like this. Being bitten hard enough to draw blood hurt, but after the first sharp stab of teeth breaking skin, the pain quickly gave way a slow, burning ache – the skin-tinglingly familiar sensation of being penetrated – and then to heady, dizzying pleasure as Oikawa started to drink. Iwaizumi curled his captive arm around Oikawa’s head and lowered himself back to the floor, closing his eyes. He’d never felt anything like this, like Oikawa’s mouth was sending a current through his veins, electrifying him between every heartbeat. His pulse throbbed and Oikawa swallowed, and it was like a tug that ran through his whole body, an insistent pull at something deep inside him. He didn’t realize what it was until it was too late, and only had time to grunt out a harsh  _ fuck _ before Oikawa pulled and it unraveled him – a knot coming undone, a cage coming unbarred – and his wolf flooded through him, prematurely unchained.

He arched his back and moaned, feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor as it started to take him, teeth going sharp in his mouth, nails hardening, hair starting to grow thicker on his body. It wasn’t like moonrise, though, he realized – his wolf hadn’t been set completely free; more like the lead was being lengthened, one chain link at a time. It was intoxicating; his senses heightened as his natures mingled, but his transformation still held at bay. Oikawa had been right – Iwaizumi had no idea how much blood he’d lost already, and he didn’t care. He didn’t want him to stop.

As Oikawa continued to drink, Iwaizumi started to feel his own blood moving beneath the vampire’s skin. At first, it was bizarrely like butting up against another shifter, touch accompanied by a heightened awareness and deeper, more fundamental understanding, but instead of dipping into Oikawa’s mind, it was like he was seeing himself mirrored back in another body, his wolf staring at him from underneath someone else’s skin. He jerked, revolting against the alien feeling and trying to recoil from it, but Oikawa held him firm until they reached a tipping point. Until his body started to absorb the blood and make it his own, until Iwaizumi stopped seeing a mirror and started seeing Oikawa.

He didn’t feel like another shifter, now – there was nothing lurking inside him to answer Iwaizumi’s call – no warmth of life or familiar connection. Instead, he was like a still, glassy pool, infinitely deep and dark, in the shelter of a cool, empty cave, and Iwaizumi was filling him with life, lighting a fire and dipping toes in the water, letting warm laughter echo down hollow tunnels.

It was almost like wearing a second set of skin, like it was  _ him _ bringing strength to Oikawa’s limbs, filling him up and reviving him, warming his skin and making his heart beat and heat pool at delicious points on his lean, muscular body. He could feel himself being drawn, inexorably, to a hungry point in the center of Oikawa’s chest where the arrowhead sizzled and burned, the shape of it becoming clearer with each throbbing pulse of blood. He hated that sharp piece of silver, blindly and furiously, hated the way it grazed against their heart every time they drew in a breath.

He curled his hand in the front of Oikawa’s shirt and tugged, pulling it tight across his back. Then he twisted his hand, wrapping the fabric around it, and pulled until the seams gave out and the cloth shredded. Oikawa made a low sound that was not, precisely, a protest, surprised enough to relax his jaw and lose his grip on Iwaizumi’s arm, and that was all the opportunity Iwaizumi needed. He flipped Oikawa onto his back and pinned him to the floor, pushing one bloody arm across his throat, knees at his hips, shins pressed down hard on his thighs. Then he pushed his thumb and forefinger into the hole in Oikawa’s chest.

Oikawa screamed, choking on the blood still thick in his mouth and clawing at Iwaizumi’s arms.

“I’m not trying to kill you,” Iwaizumi said, his voice hardly human as he pushed deeper into the wound, “but I might if you keep moving.” Oikawa went breathlessly still beneath him, and Iwaizumi let up his grip on his throat, just a little, as he continued to probe the wound with his fingertips. He expected to find at least a little bit of the arrow’s shaft to grab onto but found the threaded base of the arrowhead instead. It wasn’t attached to anything – like the shaft had been precisely removed, or the arrowhead had been driven into place by force. It wasn’t an accident that it was wedged in such a treacherous spot. “Don’t move,” he said, trying to get a grip on the small piece of metal. It was like pinching the tip of a hot soldering iron. When he was pretty sure he had it, he pressed his wrist to Oikawa’s mouth and growled, “Drink.”

Oikawa sunk his teeth into Iwaizumi’s wrist, and Iwaizumi pulled.

The base of the arrowhead was small and slick with blood, but the threading was enough to give him purchase, and he held onto it tightly, not letting it slip from his grip as he drew it out. He could feel the barbs like they were pulling out of his own body, shredding everything they touched and, inevitably, dragging like claws along the vital muscle of Oikawa’s heart. But the silver was already pulling blood to the wound, and Iwaizumi’s blood was potent, flooding in to seal the cuts as soon as the poisonous metal was removed. Oikawa gasped as Iwaizumi ripped the arrowhead free, his eyes wide and dazed and his jaw going slack, freeing Iwaizumi’s wrist.

Iwaizumi held the arrowhead up, blood and flesh sizzling and smoking, and growled out, “This is my token.” He held it in front of Oikawa’s face until his eyes registered it, until he nodded, then he flung it across the room and swore, looking down at his burned fingertips. The silver had all but melted his skin, leaving deep, ridged indentations where he’d gripped onto the threaded base of the arrowhead. The wounds would be slow to heal, and they were on his dominant hand, but at least he couldn’t feel the phantom barbs digging into his chest anymore. That thought made him realize that the intense feeling of connectedness between them was starting to subside.  _ His _ blood had become  _ Oikawa’s _ blood and was beginning to burn away as it repaired the wound in his chest. He was surprised by the feeling of loss as the fading connection pushed him back into his own body, his own mind, leaving Oikawa closed to him.

“Is this how you always make friends?” Oikawa gasped out. His voice was steady, almost teasing, but he was trembling. The blood smeared across his mouth made him look wide-eyed and pale. “Random acts of heroism?”

“I keep my promises.”

Oikawa laughed, abrupt and edging on hysterical. “Who  _ are _ you?”

He made a gruff, irritated noise and said, “You could at least try to remember my n-”

Oikawa pulled him down and kissed him. Iwaizumi groaned, hard, and leaned into him, letting out a low, contented rumble deep in his chest. Oikawa’s mouth was still thick with blood, but Iwaizumi didn’t care; Oikawa knew what he was doing. It was immediately obvious that he was more practiced at navigating two mouths filled with sharp, pointed teeth; he knew how to bite gently enough not to break the skin, how to angle his head to keep their fangs from clacking together, how to lick and tease without bloodying his tongue on their teeth. Iwaizumi shifted on top of him, putting his weight on his forearms to either side of Oikawa’s head so he could lean down into him, and when he did, Oikawa coiled his legs around his waist and rutted up against him. Apparently now that his blood wasn’t racing frantically to heal him, it had had a chance to relocate. Iwaizumi groaned and thrust down against him instinctively, but it made his focus slip, and he sliced the tip of his tongue on the sharp edge of Oikawa’s fang. Oikawa moaned in answer, drawing Iwaizumi’s tongue into his mouth and sucking on it greedily.

The next thing he knew, he was on his back on the floor and Oikawa was straddling his thighs and tugging at his undershirt. He sat up, settling Oikawa in his lap and raising his arms, but Oikawa only got as far as tugging the shirt over his head before his hands fell to Iwaizumi’s belt, undoing the buckle and then the button on his jeans. Iwaizumi tugged his shirt the rest of the way off and tossed it aside. “You could at least buy me dinner first,” Iwaizumi said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that kept it from sounding as teasing as he meant.

Oikawa showed just a moment of surprise before a slow, lazy smile spread across his features and he started to laugh, low and sultry. Then he closed his eyes and tipped his head back and to the side, baring his pale, pristine neck – perfectly submissive, perfectly prey-like – his voice smooth and velvety. “Help yourself.”

Iwaizumi lunged. Before even he had time to process Oikawa’s offer, he had an arm around his waist, a hand in his hair, and his teeth in Oikawa’s neck. Oikawa made a soft, heady little sound that wasn’t quite pained as the sharp points of Iwaizumi’s fangs broke through his skin. Blood welled into his mouth, thick and slightly sweet on his tongue, and when he swallowed, his wolf flared to life, surging through him hard enough to make him sway.

Oikawa gasped. “What was  _ that _ ?”

Iwaizumi growled and bit harder, gripped tighter, and shuddered against him, because his wolf hadn’t just stirred beneath his skin, it had pushed  _ through _ him and flowed into Oikawa, and  _ Oikawa had felt it _ . He whined, a low, animal sound, each swallow of Oikawa’s blood expanding his awareness and fortifying his wolf, until it stretched between them like pulled taffy. It was breathtakingly intimate – something that shouldn’t have even been possible, something that was rare even among shifters – his most private self rubbing contentedly against a still, glowing ember in the center of Oikawa’s chest. It wasn’t a wolf, but it was something like it – something more than the lifeless, graveyard chill he felt before; something essentially  _ him _ . He whimpered, soft and needy, and Oikawa loosened his arms from around Iwaizumi’s head, leaned down over him, and sunk his teeth into his shoulder.

His blood pulsed into Oikawa’s mouth, and when he swallowed it down, something more than blood moved between them – the ember burning bright and igniting, sending a rippling rush of warm air racing through Iwaizumi, the sultry heat of a pleasured sigh. It was an echo of Oikawa’s failed mind control, but – it  _ hadn’t  _ failed. It had showed him exactly what he wanted – not Oikawa the desperate, starving vampire, but Oikawa as he really was: that cool, fathomlessly deep pool turned scalding hot, a subterranean spring that filled the air with thick, velvety steam; the slide of wet skin and slow, breathless kisses; the embrace of hot water and strong hands, every sound echoing off the high stone ceilings.

It flowed into him, an answer to the part of himself he’d given over to Oikawa, each swallow of blood laying Oikawa bare, peeling back his layers and exposing the hidden corners of him. Iwaizumi didn’t know what Oikawa was seeing in return, didn’t know the price of this exchange, but he didn’t care. Oikawa was letting it happen, was letting him see, and that alone was enough to be dizzying even without the electric hum of Oikawa sucking on his shoulder, keeping the wound from closing, keeping the blood flowing, keeping the connection open between them. Memories that weren’t his own flickered at the edge of his awareness – faces and smells and half-forgotten moments – and beneath them the faintest whispers of Oikawa’s thoughts – gratitude, awe, hunger that was only partially for blood, and a soft, hushed murmur of his name,  _ Hajime, Hajime _ , looping in the back of his mind, a tug that pulled at the core of Iwaizumi’s chest, calling his wolf and coaxing it loose with every repetition. His change was so close his skin was tight with it.

They drew back at the same moment. Oikawa gasped, “We have to stop,” just as Iwaizumi groaned, “Do it.”

Oikawa threaded his hands in Iwaizumi’s hair and pulled, holding his mouth away from the pulsing wound on his throat and murmuring, “You don’t know what you’re asking.” Iwaizumi looked over at him, dazed and bewildered, and when Oikawa realized he wasn’t going to bite him again, he started rubbing gentle circles against Iwaizumi’s scalp with his fingertips. “If you keep drinking, you’re going to become my thrall.”

Iwaizumi let out a raspy laugh, because that wasn’t what he’d meant – was the last thing on his mind, though he could feel it at the forefront of Oikawa’s. “Don’t pretend that’s not what you want,” he said, Oikawa’s thick, dark blood dripping from his open mouth. “I know how badly you want to chain me up and point me at your enemies.”

“I don’t think you’d take well to a leash,” Oikawa said a little murmur of amusement in his voice. He turned his face into Iwaizumi’s hair and lowered his voice, soft and serious. “I want you willing or not at all.”

They were miles beyond concepts like “willing” and “unwilling,” but that wasn’t something a vampire would understand. He liked the idea of a blood bond even less than most other kinds of obligation, but it didn’t really matter anymore; in decades of searching and dozens of packs, this was the first time he’d ever had his wolf slide under someone else’s skin like it belonged there. And he didn’t think it was a trick of the blood, because when he pulled Oikawa into another kiss, slow and hard, the boundaries still blurred between them. With his eyes closed, it was hard to tell where he ended and Oikawa began, a tangle of lips and hands and sensations that made it easy to forget they were two instead of one. When he drew back, he was breathless. “My wolf is already yours to call,” he said, pressing their foreheads together, “and if you don’t realize it, you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Hajime,” Oikawa breathed, but it was more than enough to make Iwaizumi let out an abrupt, startled moan, his back arching and something important straining and popping in his chest, his hands shifting to claws and the color draining from his vision as his eyes turned golden and lupine.

“Fuck,” he said, scrabbling at the concrete and twisting beneath Oikawa, “fuck,  _ please _ .” He saw the smile slide across Oikawa’s face, but before he could test this newfound power and say his name again, Iwaizumi flexed his misshapen hands and barked, “I don’t care how pretty you are, if you say it again before you take my pants off, I’ll claw you in your smug, shitty face.”

Oikawa smoothed his hand up the center of Iwaizumi’s chest, laying him out on his back, then slid down between his legs, murmuring teasingly, “You think I’m pretty, Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi growled, slamming a fist down hard enough to crack concrete, but Oikawa was already making quick work of the last of Iwaizumi’s clothing, tugging off his shoes and socks, then pulling his jeans and underwear down and off in a single fluid motion. “Please,” he said again, rough and harsh, because moonrise still hadn’t come, and with his wolf curled at Oikawa’s ankle like an obedient dog, he couldn’t force the turn himself, no matter how achingly close it was. “Please.”

But instead of saying his name again, Oikawa smoothed his hands up Iwaizumi’s thighs, then leaned down over him and licked a slow line along his cock. Iwaizumi’s hips jerked and he had to resist the urge to curl a hand in Oikawa’s hair as he closed his mouth around the tip.

“Mother fuck,” Iwaizumi growled. “I swear to god, if you bite my dick, I-”

Oikawa’s lips curled, the promise of a smile, and he hummed before plunging down, taking Iwaizumi all the way into his mouth.

It was too much, the mounting pressure of the wolf inside him, the pull of Oikawa’s mouth (just slightly cooler than it should have been), the muddied boundaries of his awareness. It overloaded his senses, blurring the line between pleasure and pain. It was the first time his impending shift had ever felt  _ good _ , the first time it had been something he was eager for, rather than the particular, chronic pain that he was so accustomed to.

Oikawa proved as deft with his mouth and careful with his teeth as he had been when they were kissing, and Iwaizumi found himself mesmerized, watching Oikawa as he moved. This time, though, it wasn’t magic or mind tricks that held his gaze – it was the new and different kind of hunger he saw in Oikawa’s dark eyes. It wasn’t long before Iwaizumi was drawn bowstring tight, trembling with the effort to keep himself together – balanced on the cusp of too many sensations. A heartbeat before he tumbled over the edge, Oikawa drew back, mouth pink and wet, then struck, snake-fast, sinking his teeth down into the hollow of Iwaizumi’s thigh.

He moaned, loud and sharp, as his orgasm tore through him and his wolf broke free of its chain.

Nothing had ever felt so good, the surge of pleasure and relief darkening over his vision as his muscles started to tear, fur flooding over his skin and his joints dislocating as his limbs reshaped and remade themselves. He only noticed Oikawa was still drinking when his pelvis shifted and his leg didn’t slide into place at his hip because Oikawa had a death grip on it. Iwaizumi let out a sharp, pained yip and kicked, and though it felt feeble – like he was moving underwater, half drunk and hardly himself – it sent Oikawa flying across the cell, blood blossoming on his arm where claws had struck flesh.

As soon as Oikawa was gone, pain flooded over him, but with one last wrench of his spine, Iwaizumi’s shoulder blades slid into place and his tail twitched to life, his body settling the rest of the way into its new shape. Iwaizumi closed his eyes and panted, staying spread eagle on his back on the floor. He ached exactly as much as he always did after he turned, his limbs loose and useless, but he could still feel the whisper of Oikawa’s presence in his mind like silk, and he was dizzy with blood loss, his heart beating just a little too fast in his chest.

He opened his eyes as Oikawa knelt down beside him and started running cool fingertips through the shaggy, deep brown fur on his belly. Iwaizumi let out a soft huff, but stretched under the attention, letting Oikawa pet him. “You’re a big boy,” Oikawa cooed. Iwaizumi snapped his teeth at him, but made no genuine move to stop him, and when Oikawa stilled, looking down at him pensively, Iwaizumi leaned in and gave the wound on his arm an apologetic lick. Oikawa curled his fingers under Iwaizumi’s chin, stroking the soft fur there, and murmured, “I’ve never seen anyone so calm after a turn.”

Iwaizumi chuffed, then leaned in and bumped his cheek against Oikawa’s before tucking his head gently under his chin. He didn’t know if Oikawa understood the gesture, if it meant anything more to him than just a touch, but it was enough that Oikawa coiled his arms around his neck and rested his cheek against the top of his head.

“Where did you come from?” he asked no one in particular, and Iwaizumi huffed again, butting his head against Oikawa’s chest, then yawned and flopped onto his side, stretching and kicking his legs out in front and behind him before curling up next to him. When Oikawa didn’t get the point, Iwaizumi let out a soft little bark to draw his attention, then rested his face between his paws and sighed. Oikawa laughed. “Okay, okay, I’ll let you sleep,” he said, starting to push himself to his feet.

Iwaizumi grabbed the hem of Oikawa’s pants with his teeth and let out a little grumble of displeasure.

“Or not?”

Iwaizumi shifted on the floor again, uncurling and rolling, just slightly, onto his back, showing his belly.

Oikawa’s face went placid for a moment, picking at a puzzle behind an impassive expression. Then, just as abruptly, he started to laugh. “Oh my god, you want to  _ cuddle _ .”

Iwaizumi growled, rolling back onto his stomach defensively, but when Oikawa dropped back down to the floor, he stilled. Oikawa wrapped his arms loosely around Iwaizumi, one draped over his side, the other around his neck, and nuzzled his face down into the thick, soft fur on his flank. Iwaizumi rested his head gently on top of Oikawa’s and huffed out a little sigh, closing his eyes.

***

When Iwaizumi woke, he was alone and naked, but his cell was no longer empty. There was a chair by the door with folded clothes and towels, his cell phone, two protein bars, and a small bag of cookies set neatly on the seat. There was a piece of paper tented over the back of the chair, and a big bottle of apple juice and large metal basin sitting on the floor next to it.

Iwaizumi pushed himself to his feet and found that he was still sore and a little lightheaded from the night before. He braced himself against the wall and took stock of himself. He hadn’t quite managed to shed all the dried blood and other bodily fluids between his transformations, but the bite marks were far more healed than he expected them to be – like they were weeks old rather than hours. Oikawa’s blood had probably expedited the process, but he couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of himself. He looked like a vampire junkie – like he’d been bitten too many times for even a vampire’s saliva to heal the marks, like he’d given himself over to a whole nest of vampires at once for the thrill of it.

…But the burns on his fingertips were almost healed, too, and other than being a little, well, drained, he felt surprisingly good. Strong. Really hungry. He staggered across the length of the cell and grabbed one of the protein bars and the note off the back of the chair and read while he ate.

_ Iwa-chan: _

_ As promised, your truck made it to Houston this morning before the dealership opened, and no one is the wiser. The pickup in the parking lot is all yours for the day; the keys are under the visor, just park it outside your dealership when you’re done with it and someone will pick it up. The token you requested of me is in the right front pocket of your jeans, which I believe resolves both of our debts to one another. _

_ Oikawa Tooru _

_ P.S. My apologies for the lackluster accommodations; while I was indisposed, the water heater broke and I haven’t had an opportunity to have it repaired; the only running water in the building is currently in the kitchen, which incidentally has no food in it. Also, I’m unsure about the particulars of your physiology, but be cautious of your blood pressure and iron levels, refrain from operating any heavy machinery, etc. etc. _

Iwaizumi read the letter over twice more and frowned. “Debts resolved” wasn’t quite what he’d been hoping for, though he shouldn’t have expected anything else. He was a means to an end, and lucky to be that rather than a meal, or an example. Maybe what they’d shared the night before had been a trick of the blood after all, or maybe Oikawa just hadn’t felt it, or wasn’t able to. It wasn’t like he had much point of reference. He crumpled the paper and dropped it on the floor, then squatted down next to the big metal basin, which was filled with water that had probably been piping hot some time around dawn, but was now just a degree or two warmer than room temperature. It felt good anyway when he splashed it on his face and arms, washing away the sweat and blood and other things. He dunked his head in the tub and scrubbed his hair. When he was about as clean as he thought he was going to get, he lifted the tub and carried it over to the drain in the center of the room and poured the whole thing over his head, rinsing himself off.

He shook off the excess water, toweled dry, and dressed. In the pocket of his jeans, he found the arrowhead affixed to a black leather cord, and he carefully slipped it over his head, making sure to leave it resting outside his clothing so the silver wouldn’t burn him. He turned his phone on while he was eating the second protein bar, and of course now –  _ now  _ – the fucking thing was working just fine, and from the look of it, he’d been bombarded by messages over the course of the morning:

_ BossMan: Great work tonight, Jimmy! Sorry about the short notice, but you really pulled through for us! _

_ BossMan: Next round’s on me! _

_ CatBreath: Yo, where are you? You’re missing brunch _

_ CatBreath: Seriously man, we’re not waiting for you. You should see what Bo ordered _

_ CatBreath: Dude, I just went by the storage facility and they said you didn’t show last night. Are you okay??? Message me back when you get this _

_ BirdBrain: BEHOLD THE NEST: _

That message came with a picture attached: a slightly blurry snapshot of a stack of Belgian waffles piled eight high, layered with bacon and whipped cream, set atop a massive pile of hashbrowns dotted with fried eggs.

It was the last set of messages that surprised him, because half of them he’d apparently sent himself, to a contact that hadn’t been in his phone the night before.

_ Me: Had a great time last night. Wanna do it again? _

_ ⋆ _ _ * _ _ ♡ _ _ Tooru-chan _ _ ♡ _ _ * _ _ ⋆ _ _ : You’ll have to ask nicely, Iwa-chan~ My time is very valuable, after all. _

_ Me: Well, I know you said that we’ve fulfilled our debts to each other, but I can’t help but feel like it would be cosmically unfair of me to give you one little taste of my (frankly magnificent) cock and NOT spend at least ten consecutive hours showing you what I can do with it. _

_ ⋆ _ _ * _ _ ♡ _ _ Tooru-chan _ _ ♡ _ _ * _ _ ⋆ _ _ : You make a very compelling point. Dinner and a movie, next week? _

_ Me: I’ll be dinner, you can pick the movie  _ _ ৲ _ _ ( ᵒ ૩ᵒ)৴ _ _ ♡ _ _ *৹ _

_ ⋆ _ _ * _ _ ♡ _ _ Tooru-chan _ _ ♡ _ _ * _ _ ⋆ _ _ : Hmm, sounds delish (ᵒᴗ-) _ **_b_ **

_ ⋆ _ _ * _ _ ♡ _ _ Tooru-chan _ _ ♡ _ _ * _ _ ⋆ _ _ : Zoltan: Hound of Dracula, or The Forsaken? _

Iwaizumi snorted. Apparently Oikawa wasn’t ready to let him slip away after all, if not quite for the reasons he’d hoped. He scrolled through his contacts and changed “Tooru-chan” to “Booty Call,” then stopped, hesitated, and changed it to “Oikawa” instead. He bit his lip, chewed it, then swore softly and changed it back to a simple “Tooru” before pulling up his messages and typing out a reply.

_ Me: How about From Dusk Till Dawn or An American Werewolf In London? _

_ Me: I’ll bring some popcorn for you to smell _

_ Me: And get your hot water fixed. I’m not actually a dog. _

He pocketed his phone before he could think too long about it, then ate the cookies Oikawa had set out for him and drank half the apple juice straight from the bottle while he wiggled his feet into his shoes. He double checked the room for any stray belongings, then fished the key to the cell out of his pocket, only to realize the door was unlocked. He shook off his surprise. Of course the door was unlocked – he had the only key. Still, he hesitated with his hand on the knob. Deep down, he expected to find the hotel empty. Even if Oikawa was genuine in his desire to see him again, a secret hideout that wasn’t a secret wasn’t much good as a hideout, and for a vampire a resting place that was known to others wasn’t a safe place to rest.

But when he pushed the door open, he found Oikawa’s room exactly as it had been the night before… and Oikawa fast asleep on one of the low sofas. He was stretched out on his stomach, arms curled around an overstuffed pillow, face turned to one side, evidently completely nude except for a red satin sheet draped low on his hips that spilled over onto the floor.

Iwaizumi stilled in the doorway, breath caught in his throat and heart squeezing off-time in his chest, because Oikawa had left himself defenseless as a newborn - not just where Iwaizumi could find him, but directly in his path to leave. With an unlocked door between him and an unfed werewolf. Oikawa was too smart and too careful to do that for someone he only counted as a booty call.

Iwaizumi approached cautiously, not wanting to wake Oikawa and wanting less to startle him, but he hardly stirred as Iwaizumi knelt beside him. In sleep, he was changed, and not merely softened in repose. In the dim light of the room, Iwaizumi could see what he hadn’t the night before: the old, mottled tissue of a bullet wound on the back of Oikawa’s shoulder and a small hooked scar to one side of his chin, both obviously from before he’d been turned. The more he looked, the more subtle differences he found – there was a smattering of freckles across the bridge of Oikawa’s nose and the broad span of his shoulders, more faint, pale lines of scar tissue etched into his skin, and the littlest finger was missing on his left hand – all visible only because he wasn’t awake to conceal them. The gouge he’d left on Oikawa’s arm the night before had mostly healed, as had the neat lines of claw-sized puncture wounds framing his spine that Iwaizumi didn’t remember putting there, but the bite on his neck looked just short of fresh, and that made something primal and possessive bubble up inside him and come out as a low, pleased rumble.

Oikawa made a soft, sleepy sound and shifted subtly, murmuring, “Hajime?” The sun was still up, so Oikawa  _ couldn’t _ wake up short of someone smashing open a window or setting him on fire, but he made a good effort of it, propping himself on one elbow and reaching up to card his fingers through Iwaizumi’s damp hair, a lazy smile on his lips. “You’re all wet.”

Iwaizumi breathed out a laugh. “Go back to sleep.”

A small furrow of thought – of worry – marred Oikawa’s forehead, and the unguarded openness of his expression made him look terribly young. “You’re coming back, right?” he asked, settling onto his back and brushing the pad of his thumb along Iwaizumi’s cheekbone.

“Apparently I have a cosmic injustice to right,” he murmured, grinning at the slow flush and lazy, satisfied smile that spread across Oikawa’s face. After a moment, he let his gaze drop to Oikawa’s chest. The wound there had closed, but the cross-shaped scar was fresh and puckered, the skin around it still faintly discolored. He reached up and touched the mark, gently, and asked, “How’re you feeling?”

Oikawa breathed out a chuckle, just a low rumble in his chest, and stretched out on the sofa. “Like I’m not dying for the first time in six months.”

Iwaizumi recoiled. “Six  _ months _ ?”

His reaction made something change in Oikawa’s expression – the drowsiness disappearing and the small scar on his chin vanishing with it. Oikawa waved a hand dismissively, the sleep-heaviness of his voice becoming affected. “An exaggeration, Iwa-chan. No one could survive-”

“Liar.” Oikawa stilled, gaze leveled at him like an expectant cat. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. When Oikawa shifted his eyes away, a little petulant, Iwaizumi leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Oikawa’s chin where his scar wasn’t anymore. Oikawa drew in a soft breath, relaxing into him by inches and closing his eyes. “Don’t hide from me,” he said, letting his voice drop low as he moved to kiss Oikawa’s lips. Oikawa moaned softly, reaching up to curl his hands in Iwaizumi’s hair, but he didn’t pull him away. Iwaizumi pressed his hand to the base of Oikawa’s throat, pushing him back down against the couch and looking him in the eye. “I’ve seen you. I  _ know _ you, and unless I’m very mistaken, I think you know me, too. So let’s make a point to be honest with each other, okay?”

Oikawa looked up at him, his gaze unfocused, then allowed himself a long blink, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “When you realized what I was, the first thing you did was turn your back on me. I don’t think I’ve ever been so turned on in my life.”

The haze of sleep was settling over him again, unconsciousness tugging him under, his scar and freckles just a suggestion on his skin but slowly becoming more visible. Iwaizumi leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Oikawa’s mouth, murmuring, “No one’s ever been able to call my wolf before.” He rested his forehead against Oikawa’s temple, voice dropping to a low breath. “You’re the only person it’s acknowledged as an equal.” It was a confession Oikawa wouldn’t understand, but one that weighed in his chest and left him feeling winded when he said it out loud.

Oikawa reached up and pressed his hand, deliberately, to the base of Iwaizumi’s sternum, and Iwaizumi shuddered and closed his eyes. That simple touch was enough to draw his wolf to the surface, to make it butt affectionately against Oikawa’s palm.

“Please tell me you can feel this, too,” Iwaizumi gasped, bracing his arm on the back of the sofa and leaning on it heavily.

By way of an answer, Oikawa gave a small curl of his fingers, carding them through the invisible strands that stretched between them. It was like being stroked on the chin, and Iwaizumi let out a soft, involuntary little croon.

“I can call all the wolves in my pack,” Oikawa murmured, winding and twirling the tendrils of Iwaizumi’s wolf around his fingers, “but this is new.”

Iwaizumi let out a low grunt. “What about this?” he asked, pressing his hand to the center of Oikawa’s chest and reaching for what he knew was hidden beneath the surface. It answered his call, like a puff of steam released from an opened door.

Oikawa gasped, arching up into the touch. “New,” he panted, “ _ very _ new.” Iwaizumi couldn’t help but smile. Not a trick of the blood, then, and something appreciably different than what Oikawa shared with the wolves that were bound to him. “I thought I was hallucinating last night,” he said between heavy breaths, “but this…”

“Let me show you,” Iwaizumi murmured, drawing Oikawa’s hand away from his chest and leaning down over him, letting the reaching parts of both of them find each other and grab hold. Iwaizumi let out a shuddering sigh. It felt like belonging. It felt like being whole. And when Oikawa pulled him down into a kiss, he was drawn in by more than just lips and hands.

He kissed Oikawa slow and languid, leaning over him so their chests pressed together and slowly losing himself in the sweet softness of Oikawa’s mouth and the inexplicable sensation of being joined. It was only the sharp, unexpected taste of blood welling up in his mouth that reminded him that Oikawa wasn’t in full possession of his faculties. When he drew back, nursing the cut on his tongue, Oikawa curled a hand in the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, eyes closed and breathing hard, and panted, “You should probably take your pants off immediately.”

It was more than tempting, but Iwaizumi shook his head. “You’re half asleep. I don’t even know how you’re awake at all.”

“No rest for the wicked?” Oikawa breathed, eyes heavy-lidded.

“You must not be so bad, then,” he said, brushing Oikawa’s bangs back and pressing a kiss to his forehead. Oikawa whined. Iwaizumi smiled and murmured against his skin, “You wouldn’t want to fall asleep while I’m fucking you, would you Tooru-chan?”

Oikawa moaned, but it was hard to tell if it was the promise or the endearment that brought the flush to his cheeks. “Not fair.”

“Get some sleep,” he said, brushing his fingertips along Oikawa’s jawline. “I’ll call you the next time I’m going to be in town.”

“You could stay,” Oikawa said, leaning into his touch. “Until sunset.”

Iwaizumi shook his head again. “If I don’t get back to Houston soon, a lot of people are going to start scouring the road looking for my body, and I don’t want to bring them to your doorstep. Not until I’ve had a chance to explain in person.” He grunted. “And as much as I appreciated the cookies, if I don’t eat some real food soon, my muscles are going to start to atrophy.”

Oikawa groaned, long and low, reaching up to press a hand to Iwaizumi’s mouth. “There’s nothing less sexy than logic, Iwa-chan.”

Iwaizumi kissed the palm of his hand and murmured, “You look cute with freckles.”

Oikawa blinked up at him, and Iwaizumi forced himself to stand. Oikawa dropped his hand, but it still felt like they were anchored to each other, rooted as firmly as though they were clasping arms. “You’re going to come back?” Oikawa asked again.

“I’m going to come back,” Iwaizumi said, then grinned. “As long as you promise not to put any more shitty emojis on my phone.”

“There’s no purer form of expression than kaomoji,” Oikawa said, but the end trailed off in a yawn. He stretched out on the sofa, closing his eyes, and was asleep again before Iwaizumi could muster a comeback.

It was a damn shame all the arguments he’d made against staying were true, because on his back, Oikawa was a portrait of muscles and pale skin against blood red fabric. One long leg peeked out from beneath the silk sheet, which looked like it might slide to the floor if he stared at it hard enough. He would almost have accused Oikawa of posing himself intentionally if it weren’t for the uncomfortable-looking way his arms had tumbled back around his head and the fact that he was snoring. Even so, he was absolutely stunning.

Iwaizumi sighed. There’d be time to stare later. He slipped out into the hall and pulled the door shut behind him. The hotel was deserted and eerily quiet, but he retraced his steps back to the lobby and headed out into the parking lot. There was a vintage baby blue Chevy pickup parked right in front of the door, and as promised, it was unlocked. He slid into the seat, ran his hands over the steering wheel, and took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the artificial vanilla scent of an air freshener. Then he fished his phone out of his pocket, pulled up his missed messages, and started typing a reply.

_ Me: Hey TK, call off the search party, I’m fine. _

The response was almost immediate.

_ CatBreath: WTF HAPPENED MAN? WHERE ARE YOU? _

_ Me: Long story. Face-to-face long. You free tonight? _

_ CatBreath: I’ll make time. But seriously, wtf? Some people at your work said they saw you this morning after moonrise. _

Iwaizumi sighed, rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

_ Me: Wasn’t me. _

_ Me: I got stranded in Louisiana last night. Blowout. _

He chewed his lip, then let out a slow breath. If anyone would be able to help him figure this out, it was TK. Before he could decide out how to phrase what he had to say, though, a new message popped up.

_ CatBreath: Holy fuck. You’ve been hiding out? _

_ Me: No. I walked right into a vamp den. I thought I talked my way out of it, but… _

_ Me: Fuck _

_ Me: I’m like 98% sure I just pair bonded with the Deacon of Baton Rouge.   _

This time, there was a long pause.

_ CatBreath: Is that even possible? _

_ Me: Beats the fuck out of me. I was hoping you would know _

_ CatBreath: Shit. _

_ CatBreath: I’ll ask around. _

_ CatBreath: Did he bind you? _

_ Me: No. He made a point not to. _

_ CatBreath: Weird. _

_ CatBreath: …is he hot? _

_ Me: He’s fucking perfect _

_ Me: And it scares the shit out of me _


	2. Eastbound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi leaves Oikawa's hotel and finishes his drive to Houston, looking for answers about what happened the night before. But in the cold light of day, the possibility that he might be permanently connected to a vampire is starting to look a little too real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not a true romance if your protagonists don't suffer a period of separation, right? For what's happening on Oikawa's end, check out Carrie's (much, much shorter) [chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243357/chapters/28159050)!

Four hours, three hundred miles, and five drive-thru burgers later, Iwaizumi pulled up the long, winding dirt drive that led to TK’s ranch. It was a wide, single-story building set on a huge tract of grassland that would have been perfect for cattle grazing if it weren’t the occasional hunting ground for a dozen or so werecats and half as many miscellaneous avian shifters. The two packs mostly ran up by the Sam Houston National Forest, but the ranch – both the house and the surrounding property – was a safety net and haven for all the shifters that fell under TK’s protection. The house was big enough to put all of them up if the need arose.

All the lights were on inside, the big windows burning like beacons on the wide open plain, but TK’s red pickup and Bo’s black-and-gold Jeep were the only cars parked out front. The cats tended to linger after a shift, which meant either TK’s pride had collectively learned how to take a cue to leave and headed home on their own, or TK had cleared the place out so they could have this chat in private. Iwaizumi parked his borrowed truck next to TK’s and killed the ignition. He could return the truck in the morning. For now, he needed answers.

The front door opened while he was still halfway up the path. TK was leaning in the frame, looking like he’d just woken up from a nap. He waved, and Iwaizumi gave him a little nod, but when Iwaizumi jogged up the front steps, TK didn’t move. His lazy half-smile didn’t slip, either, but Iwaizumi knew: he was blocking the door.

“What’s going on?” Iwaizumi said, not bothering to hide his suspicion.

TK breathed out a humorless laugh, ducking his head and hiding behind his shaggy hair. “Nothing personal,” he said.

Iwaizumi prickled, a rush of hair-raising anger that came and went, but left his shoulders tense in its wake. “I came to you for help. For answers.”

“And I’m going to give them to you, but I have to ask you something first.” Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest, and TK sighed, cocking his head to one side. “You said you almost talked your way out of it,” he said. “Does that mean you made a deal with the vamp?”

“A contract that was fulfilled on both sides,” he said, suddenly understanding the purpose of Oikawa’s oddly formal letter. “Which I have in writing, if you’d like to see it.”

TK gave a small nod. “That the only place he bit you? On the wrist?”

Iwaizumi crossed his arms tighter. He hadn’t figured out a way to keep that mark covered yet. “No. Why?”

“Can you show me the other ones?”

A little growl trickled out of him, his voice going deep. “Not unless you want me to take my pants off on your porch. What the fuck is this about?”

TK sighed, dropping his defensive stance and stepping onto the small porch. “Look, if you and the Deacon made promises, even informally, and swapped blood, it’s possible that was enough to stand in for a binding ritual, and I need to be sure it didn’t, or shit could get messy, okay?”

The thought made Iwaizumi’s stomach clench. “Fine. How do you tell?”

“Are any of the wounds still open? Not like bleeding, but-”

“No, they’re all healed over. Just like this one,” he said, showing TK his wrist.

TK looked from where he was standing and nodded, but made no move to get closer. “Borrowed truck?”

“Yeah. Need to return it in the morning, unless you want me to go now.”

TK shook his head. “You eat already?”

“Yeah, on the way back, but I’m still starved. Didn’t have anything before or during my shift last night.”

TK hummed, nodding his understanding. “What’d you have to eat?”

“The fuck does that matter?”

“Humor me.”

Iwaizumi grunted. “Two protein bars when I woke up, some cookies, half a gallon of apple juice, five double burgers no pickles, a chocolate milkshake, and an asston of fries.”

“How tall are you?” he asked, pulling his phone out of his pocket and typing something out on the screen.

“Five ten on a good day. What’s this about, TK?”

“Just need to check something. How much do you weigh?”

“210, maybe 200 coming off the turn?”

“Blood type?”

“A.”

“Any idea how much blood he took?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “I don’t know. Too much. Probably enough to have killed a human. Three pints? Maybe more?”

“And how much did you drink?”

“Enough for him to stop me.”

“How long were you in your shift?”

Iwaizumi gave a small shake of his head. “Dunno. Probably the full twelve. I crashed hard afterwards.”

“You don’t remember coming back?”

“I remember, but I was alone in a windowless cell, and I wasn’t wearing a watch.”

“What was his name again?”

Iwaizumi blinked. “Tooru. Tooru Oikawa.” TK’s eyes widened, and Iwaizumi frowned. “Why?”

“Well, the bad news is, you were right. Unless there are two Tooru Oikawas in Louisiana that both happen to be vampires, you just opened a vein for one of the bigwigs.”

Iwaizumi grunted. He’d figured as much. “What’s the good news?”

“The good news is, you’re not blood bound to him, and you’re not his thrall,” TK said, turning and heading back inside and waving for Iwaizumi to follow.

“I already told you that,” Iwaizumi snapped, following him inside and shutting the door behind them with a little more force than was strictly necessary.

“Yeah, well, you might not have known it, and I needed to be sure before we ran into a conflict of interests. But I trust you, so even though you absolutely  _ reek  _ of vampire, since your wounds are closed and you can say his name, that’s good enough for me,” TK said, leading him through the house and into the sunken living room, which was little more than a pit full of pillows and bean bags pointed generally in the direction of a big projection screen. There was some nature documentary about small mammals splashed across the wall. Bo was draped over a yoga ball in the middle of the floor eating pork rinds, and when Iwaizumi stepped down into the room, Bo held out the bag in his direction without looking away from the screen.

“No thanks,” Iwaizumi said. “What do you mean, ‘conflict of interests’?”

TK sighed, stopping in the middle of the room. He lifted up one arm and pulled up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing the inside of his bicep. The marks on his arm weren’t a perfect match for the ones on Iwaizumi’s – the two round puncture wounds were smaller, closer together, and neat, almost delicate rather than slightly ragged, and fresh, like they’d just had the scabs picked off – but it was obvious they’d been made the same way.

“You’re blood bound to someone?” He couldn’t keep the shock out of his voice, but TK looked unruffled and unimpressed. Iwaizumi shook his head, frowning. “Sorry, I just...why didn't you tell me?" he asked, trying not to sound hurt. TK kept a lot of secrets, but not usually from him - certainly not ones this big.

TK sighed. "Because vampires always come with strings attached, and I wanted to spare you getting tangled up in them if I could."

That  _ did _ sound like TK. "And now?"

"Now you need to know what you're getting yourself into." TK gave a small nod towards the floor. "Sit?"

Iwaizumi settled himself awkwardly into a big pile of pillows while TK dropped bonelessly onto a cushion next to Bo’s yoga ball. “So,” Iwaizumi said. “Tell me what I need to know.”

TK stroked his fingertips along the underside of Bo’s chin, making him coo, his sharp gold eyes falling half lidded. The subdued way he melted into the touch was proof enough he wasn’t quite himself; he’d probably spent longer than he should have in his owl form, but there was no one that could keep Bo from flying, not even TK. “The vampire I’m bound to is named Kenma Kozume, the former Deacon of Shreveport.”

“ _ Former  _ Deacon?” As far as he knew, it wasn’t exactly a position you retired from.

TK waved him off, continuing as though he hadn’t been interrupted. “Part of Kenma's job was to hunt down vampires that tried to leave Louisiana without permission and drag them back to the Bishop. We kept bumping into each other when I was working to consolidate the state, and we agreed to work together to pick up his strays and keep a nest from forming in Houston. For years, that was the extent of it - hunting parties and hand-offs. Then, about six months ago, he came to me looking for protection."

Six months. Iwaizumi frowned. “What happened?”

“The Bishop tried to force Kenma to sire another vampire, and when he refused, he was stripped of his land and title and run out of the state.”

“And I need to know this because?”

“Because when Kenma refused, the responsibility fell to the next youngest vampire.”

Iwaizumi grunted. “Oikawa.”

TK gave a small nod. “Apparently he refused, too, but the Bishop wasn’t willing to take no for an answer twice. Forced him to turn some Japanese exchange student that was in the city on an athletics scholarship, then stabbed Oikawa in the chest with a silver spear. Kenma thought he was dead.”

“Jesus.”

“Kenma’s got no hard feelings, but if Oikawa-”

“Tooru doesn’t care about Kenma,” Iwaizumi said, so fast he surprised himself. TK raised an eyebrow. Iwaizumi frowned, trying to trace the thought back to its source, but found only impressions – clear and decisive, but not his own. “Kenma stood up for himself and got out while he could. Tooru respects that. His beef is with Ushiwaka.” TK’s other eyebrow went up, and Iwaizumi’s frown deepened. He’d never even heard that name before, and didn’t know how he knew it.

“That’s fuckin’ creepy, man.”

Iwaizumi ran a hand down his face. “Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?”

TK hummed, resting his chin on his fist and idly scratching the dip between Bo’s shoulder blades. “From the look on your face, he didn’t tell you any of that, which means whatever’s going on, it’s more than just a blood bond.”

“TK still has to talk to Kenma out loud,” Bo said absently, reaching back and feeding TK one of his pork rinds.

TK hummed an agreement, crunching on the pork rind, then said, “And I’m doubly sure you aren’t in his thrall, because you’d have a verbal block on sensitive information like that, not instinctive access to it.”

Iwaizumi frowned. “So that doesn’t happen with you and Kenma?”

TK shook his head. “We’re close, but not that close. When he’s had enough of my blood, I can read him as well as any other shifter. Better than half my pride, honestly. But it’s like Bo and Keiji. We can swap thoughts through touch, and we hunt well together, but he’s not my mate.”

“But what’s the difference?” Iwaizumi asked, frustrated. “I know the closer you are to someone, the tighter the bond, but there are so few people that let me in at all that I don’t-” He let out a curt, frustrated breath. “How is it different between the two of you than it is with Kenma, or Keiji, or anyone else?”

Bo and TK turned and met eyes, eerily synchronized, then leveled their gazes on Iwaizumi and said, together, “He’s mine.”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Great. Helpful.”

Bo cocked his head to one side and blinked slowly, eyes huge and ever so slightly inhuman. “Keiji is my… partner,” he said slowly, like he was struggling to find words to describe the feeling. “We… fit, but he’s not…” He frowned, and after a moment, cast a glance back toward TK, who grew thoughtful, sliding his hand up to the back of Bo’s neck, seeking skin.

“We didn’t know it before we met, but we aren’t whole when we aren’t together,” TK said, curling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Bo’s neck.

Bo hummed, tipping his head forward and resting his chin on the yoga ball, murmuring, “Keiji is the next closest thing, but we can’t skinwalk.”

Iwaizumi sat back, his stomach going cold. His eyes flicked to TK. “Is that the difference?”

TK nodded slowly. “It might be. I hadn’t really thought about it that way, because Kenma and I get real close when we hunt, but he’s right, it isn’t the same, and I’ve never heard of anyone being in pair bond that couldn’t do it, or two people who could that weren’t.”

“Fuck,” Iwaizumi said, scrubbing his hands through his hair, then rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Fuck, I need a drink.” He pushed himself to his feet and headed for the kitchen. He could feel them both watching him, steady predator eyes boring through him, and he rubbed the back of his neck before he could check the instinct. “You want anything?”

“Boys drank us out of house and home last night,” TK said, “but there should be a couple bottles of beer in the back of the freezer.”

There were, and Iwaizumi cracked one of them open with his thumb and drained it, then pressed the cool bottle to his forehead and closed his eyes. When he looked up, TK was leaned against the kitchen counter, Bo perched next to him. “You gonna make us ask?”

Iwaizumi pulled three more bottles of beer out of the freezer and passed one to TK and one to Bo before cracking a second one open for himself. “It was just for a few minutes, but we stopped being two people.” He rubbed his knuckles against his chest, over his heart. “I can still feel him.” He took another swig of beer and shook his head. “There’s nothing  _ there _ ,” he said, thumping his chest, “but it answers my call. He. Fuck, he answers my call. That means he’s-” He stopped. Swallowed. Cleared his throat. “I mean, fuck, doesn’t it? Is there precedent for this? Between a shifter and a vampire?”

“Kenma is asking around. Discreetly,” TK said. “But you realize the three of us are already weirder than most people think is possible,” TK said, gesturing between them with the neck of his beer bottle.

Bo grinned, rocking on the edge of the counter. “Anything weirder than us is just rumors.”

“At this point, I’ll gladly take rumors.”

TK gave a slow shrug. “I know a guy who knows a guy who heard there’s some kind of avian shifter that wanders the Mississippi busking with his mate, who’s a siren.”

He said it like it was a rumor hardly worth the breath it cost to spread, but Bo perked up. “No, that one’s true,” he said. TK’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and Bo conceded, “Well, probably. Few years back, Yukie picked up a couple hitchhikers headed north up by Vicksburg. They got t-boned at an intersection, and when the kid pulled her out of the wreckage, he got her blood in his cuts, enough to turn him. They didn’t stick around, but she said the guy’s friend had slits for ears and made her car smell like river water.”

TK looked mildly impressed. “If that’s true, could mean it only takes one shifter to be able to form a bond. Or sense one that’s there, maybe.” He tilted his head. “Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened last night? I saved you some steak, and there’s a bottle of tequila under the sink.”

Iwaizumi sighed and finished off the last of his beer, then nodded.

***

They sat him down at their oversized dining table and got him drunk enough to tell them everything, from the blown tire to finding Oikawa asleep on a sofa the next morning. When he tried to describe the sensation of his wolf reaching out for Oikawa, though, Bo barked out a laugh and started slapping his hand against the tabletop. “What?” Iwaizumi snapped.

“Oh man, you’ve got it  _ bad _ .”

Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest, trying to suppress the growl he could feel prickling at the back of his throat.

“What he’s  _ trying _ to say,” TK interjected, “is that that’s not something you can do with a casual acquaintance.” He shook his head. “I’m going to be blunt with you, Hajime. Your perspective is skewed because your parents are the most perfect mates that have ever walked the face of the earth, but that kind of connection is  _ rare _ . Some of what you described could be vampire blood fuckery, but most of it?  It’s because he’s yours and deep down, you know it. Don’t fuck this up.”

Iwaizumi frowned, “I just-”

“Call him,” Bo said.

“Okay, fine, you’re right. I’ll call him tomorrow.” TK started to object, but Iwaizumi talked over him, “I’m not calling now, because I’m drunk and tired and I don’t know how he’s going to react. I’ll call tomorrow.”

***

He meant to call.

But the next morning he woke to something shifting beneath the sheets, cool fingertips on his thighs, the ghost of lips wandering from the backs of his knees upward, his name, whispered against his skin,  _ Hajime _ , before he struck, fangs piercing flesh.

Iwaizumi sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard and sweating. TK was still asleep to one side of him, arm slung around his waist, Bo on the other, nuzzled against his hip, arms coiled around his thigh. Just a dream. He flopped back down into the nest of pillows, threading his hands back through his hair. It was just a dream.

He tried to go back to sleep, but when he closed his eyes, there was a weight on his chest, the loops and coils of a big, friendly snake, hissing his name in his ear,  _ Hajime, Hajime _ , cool scales sliding along bare skin.

He swore under his breath and peeled himself free of Bo and TK, then crawled over Bo and off their better-than-king-sized bed. He dug around in their walk-in closet until he found a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that would fit him, then changed out of his borrowed pajamas. As he passed the bed on his way out, TK hooked his fingers in the pocket of Iwaizumi’s pants and murmured, “You smell like sex.”

“Go back to sleep.”

“Suit yourself,” he said, his lazy, satisfied grin giving way to a wide yawn. “I’ll go with you to drop off your car when you get back.”

“Thanks. Just gonna do a few laps around the block, clear my head.”

TK hummed, then blew a sleepy kiss that mostly wound up in Bo’s pillow. Iwaizumi grabbed his phone off the nightstand, shoved it in his pocket, and headed for the door. He spent a minute stretching on the front porch, then jogged down the driveway and out onto the street.

He slowed to a fast walk when his phone started ringing, then stopped when he saw the call was from TK. He flipped the phone open and answered. “What?”

“ _ I know our blocks are pretty long out here, but I didn’t think they were  _ that _ long. _ ”

“What?” he asked, then realized he was a little breathless. “What are you talking about?”

The line was quiet for a moment. Then TK said, “ _ Hajime, you’ve been gone for five hours _ .”

“What?” he said, standing up straighter and looking around. The wide open ranchland had given way to tired-looking industrial buildings.

“ _ Where are you _ ?”

“I don’t-” He turned in a slow circle, trying to get his bearings, but nothing looked familiar. “I have no idea. TK, what the fuck?”

“ _ Don’t freak out. Just find the nearest cross street. We’re coming to get you _ .”

***

He knew what had happened, but when they got back to the ranch, he checked anyway.

He’d run more than thirty miles, following the most direct route back toward Baton Rouge.

***

Bo and TK drove Oikawa’s pickup truck back to the dealership together while Iwaizumi sat in a pile of pillows at the ranch and chewed on his thumbnail, struggling to stay still. His whole body was trembling with nervous energy, and he wanted desperately to run, but this was a trap he wasn’t sure he could escape. He had spent his whole life slipping bonds, avoiding confinement, cutting and running when the collar cinched too tight. There were a dozen packs he ran with, but none he belonged to; an apartment where his stuff stayed but he didn’t; a job that didn’t depend on a boss, or a tie, or a clock; people he loved, laughed with, drank with, slept with, but always in passing. He had never needed anything else, never let himself want it; he’d been born to run. The ache in his chest, the hollow space that hadn’t been there before, the  _ need  _ left him cold and nauseous, jittery and hungry to flee. But he knew if he ran now, he would spend two straight days in that blind, mindless stupor only to find himself back at Oikawa’s doorstep, a lost dog returned to its master. The thought hit, and it stuck. He pushed to his feet and ran to the bathroom, then threw up until his ribs ached and there were tears streaming down his face.

***

The dreams were worse the second night, slower and more drawn out. Oikawa’s mouth hesitated over his cock, breath like a puff of steam, before continuing up along his stomach, his sternum. This time, his legs ended up around Oikawa’s waist, and Oikawa’s fangs sunk into the soft point of Iwaizumi’s neck that he’d been denied the first time.

Iwaizumi woke with a muffled shout, grateful to find himself alone in the bed.

***

When he made his way into the kitchen, he found Bo at the stove wearing nothing but a pair of neon green briefs and a frilly pink apron, TK sitting at the island across from him, dressed for work and nursing a big mug of coffee. “He’s never going to go for it, babe,” TK said.

“It’s a  _ good idea _ ,” Bo insisted, fussing with something on the stove. The kitchen smelled like eggs and bacon. Iwaizumi shuffled in and flopped down on the stool next to TK. It felt like he’d hardly slept at all the night before, despite the fact that it was already well past the time he usually got up in the morning.

TK grinned into his coffee cup and said, “Rough night?”

“Bite me, fur face,” he said, scrubbing the sleep out of his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Who isn’t going to go for what now?”

“There’s a visiting exhibit at the Field Museum in Chicago that Keiji wants to go to, for his research. Bo thinks they should fly there together.”

Iwaizumi blinked and glanced up at Bo. “Does he not want you to go or something?”

“Not plane fly,” TK said. “Fly fly.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi said, then, “ _ Oh _ .”

Bo set a plate in front of him – two fried eggs and several strips of bacon arranged in a smiley face, with two wedges of buttered toast balanced on the edge of the plate like cat ears. “It’s a good idea,” Bo said again, pointing at Iwaizumi with his spatula. “Worst case, we halve our airfare.”

TK snorted. “Worst case, you wake up naked somewhere in the middle of Kansas.” He paused, then added, “Or wake up naked somewhere in the middle of  _ Chicago _ .”

Bo waved a hand dismissively. “Keiji knows a – what is he, a python? Lives maybe an hour outside the city. We could fly to him, shift there, take the train to the city in the morning. It’s a perfect plan.”

“How would you get back?” Iwaizumi asked, poking at the yolks of his eggs with the corner of his toast.

TK groaned. “Don’t encourage him.”

But it was too late. “Like I said,  _ worst  _ case, we take a plane there, or back. But  _ I’m _ thinking if we go maybe a week before the turn of the moon, we could force the shift early.” Iwaizumi rolled his eyes, but Bo pressed on, “Then we spend a nice week together in some swanky hotel, see the sights, eat some pizza, then fly back on the next full moon. Foolproof.”

“Maybe if you want to spend half the trip zoned out watching Animal Planet,” TK said. Bo wrinkled his nose. “Besides, that’s a lot of distance to cover in twelve hours. You sure you can even make it that far?”

“That’s what I want to find out,” Bo said, sighing and leaning on the counter across from them. “Just as a test next month, see how far we can fly in a night. For science.”

“Mm,” TK hummed into his coffee. “And then after twelve hours of flying you wake up in some unknown location, an unknown distance away from home. How do you get back?”

Bo’s cheeks puffed out. “Maybe we could just fly for six hours, and then-”

“How would you know when it had been six hours?” Iwaizumi asked with a grin, biting into his bacon.

“You could strap a tiny timer to Keiji’s leg. Have an alarm go off,” TK said, barely hiding a smile.

Iwaizumi perked up. “Actually, if you could do that, you could just test flying speed and calculate the distance from there. Just fly back and forth to figure out endurance.” A huge smile inched across Bo’s face. Iwaizumi crunched his toast. “Then again, even if you could make it that far, you wouldn’t be able to get your luggage to or from Chicago. No clothes, no money. Not the best for a museum trip.” Bo deflated, and TK snorted and slapped Iwaizumi’s shoulder.

“I’m bringing it up at the meeting today,” Bo said stubbornly, untying his apron.

“Hey,” TK said, waving a hand at him. When Bo leaned forward, TK hooked his fingers in the front of his apron and pulled him down for a quick kiss. “If you can figure out the logistics, I bet you two could have a lot of fun with it.” Bo’s lips twisted, suppressing a smile, and TK kissed him again. “Even if you can’t make it all the way to Chicago, I bet you could round trip to the Grand Canyon.” Bo’s face lit up. It was the exact piece of ammo he needed to get Keiji to cave. He clapped TK’s face between his hands and gave him a big smooch.

“There’s no  _ way _ he’ll say no.”

“Mm, go get dressed. I’ll drive you over there on my way to work.” Bo pressed another quick kiss to the corner of TK’s mouth, then danced his way out of the kitchen and did a sock slide down the hall toward the bedroom. “You gonna be okay here alone today?” TK asked, transferring the last piece of his bacon and a sausage link from his plate to Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi grunted. “Afraid I’m going to wander off if you don’t chain me up?”

TK grinned, licking the grease off his fingertips. “I mean, I could, if that’s what you’re worried about. But I meant more the,” he gestured to his eyes – or, rather, where there would have been dark circles beneath them if he’d had them.

“They’re just dreams,” he said, eating TK’s cast-off bacon.

“You were talking in your sleep this morning,” he said, tone suddenly serious. “In Japanese, so I couldn’t follow most of it, but-”

“I don’t remember what I was dreaming about.” It made sense that he had been, though; it would explain why he was so exhausted.

TK grunted, thoughtful. When Iwaizumi didn’t elaborate, he said, “Kenma said he has news, but that he wants to tell you in person tonight.”

Iwaizumi snorted. “Maybe I’ll restock the beer fridge and pick up something for dinner.”

TK cocked an eyebrow. “You aren’t worried about driving?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “I space out when I run, but I think I’ve spent long enough on the road not to take a detour on accident.”

“Well, you know where the keys to the Jeep are,” he said, swallowing the dregs of his coffee and standing up. He hesitated, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of Iwaizumi’s head and murmured down into his hair, “Just take care of yourself, okay?” Iwaizumi grunted, and TK boxed his ear. “And  _ call _ him.”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he muttered.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, slapping him on the back and heading towards the bedroom. “If you do end up going to the liquor store, could you pick up an apple pie from the bakery next door?” he called back over his shoulder. “Kenma has a sweet tooth.”

***

An hour later he was carefully nestling a pie in between four bags of miscellaneous alcohol, trying to shake the vague sense that he’d forgotten something. TK hadn’t asked him to pick up any other food, though he’d offered to. Then again, he didn’t want to just bring home random food for dinner, especially if Bo had plans to cook that he didn’t know about. The fridge was well-stocked, but they’d eaten a lot of eggs for breakfast. Should he have gotten eggs? There was something, he was  _ sure _ , he needed to pick up, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

***

The feeling didn’t resolve itself until he pulled into the parking lot of a shuttered dive bar what felt like fifteen minutes later. He’d never been there before, didn’t recognize the name on the sign, and couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. He closed his eyes, took a steadying breath, and glanced down at the dashboard. It was just after two in the afternoon, more than four hours after he’d left the ranch. He dug around in the glove compartment for Bo’s GPS and turned it on.

He was on the north side of Shreveport. He gripped the steering wheel and forced himself to breathe. He wanted to lash out, to slam his fist into something, to rend and tear and pummel, but the only thing worse than driving blindly into vampire territory would be ripping the steering wheel off the car and being stuck there.

Questions danced on the periphery of his awareness. Why Shreveport and not Baton Rouge?  Was Oikawa  _ here _ ? And if so, why? And what the fuck was so important that it had made him drive, thoughtlessly, more than two hundred miles out of his way to get here? He climbed out of the car and marched across the parking lot, then banged his fist on the front door. Some lingering rational part of his mind said  _ this is probably a vampire den _ . Whispered  _ you probably shouldn’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong _ . But his anger overwhelmed his caution. He banged on the door again, hard enough for the wood to protest under his fist.

He was about to knock a third time when the door opened, shedding flecks of paint and revealing a redhead who couldn’t have been more than nineteen or twenty. He was short and leanly built, almost delicate looking, and he smelled like one of the birds in Keiji’s nest. He rubbed his eyes and blinked up at Iwaizumi, soft and drowsy, like he’d been woken up by the noise. There was a messy bite mark peeking out from the scooped neck of his slightly too large shirt. He caught Iwaizumi looking and tugged at the fabric, frowning. “Who are you?”

Iwaizumi’s anger deflated in the face of the question. He’d marched up to the door ready to demand answers, but this kid wouldn’t know why he was here any better than he did.

“Look, you can’t be here,” the kid said. When he put his hand on Iwaizumi’s arm to push him out of the doorway, though, he jolted and shuddered, then jerked his hand back like he’d been stung. His eyes went wide and his mouth worked soundlessly. Iwaizumi had to give the kid credit, though; touching him without knowing what to expect had brought more than a few shifters to their knees. Even Bo still got shivers when they touched, once in a blue moon.

“He’s probably here to pick up Oikawa-san’s shit,” someone called in Japanese from somewhere inside the bar.

Iwaizumi bristled, and the kid took a step back. “Is that? Uh, are you – here for Oikawa-san?”

Apparently. He grunted. “I’m supposed to pick something up?”

“Yeah,” the kid said, taking another step back and pulling the door shut between them. “Just hang on. Don’t leave. I’ll be right back.” He heard retreating footsteps and muffled voices, but couldn’t make out more than a few garbled words. There were more than a few people in the building, though, most of them shifters, though they weren’t all birds. The creak of the door opening made him blink his eyes open and snapped his attention back to the redhead. He’d only opened the door an inch, and he stuck his hand out to pass Iwaizumi a beat up looking sports bag. “I uh. It’s. I’m, uh. Sorry,” he said, withdrawing his hand, and again, “sorry,” as he shut the door between them. The bag was zipped shut, but it smelled faintly of wolf and blood. He stared at it as he walked back across the parking lot to Bo’s car.

He tossed the bag onto the passenger’s seat and pulled his door shut with a little more force than was strictly necessary. For a moment, he was resolved not to look – to start the car and drive away from the not-quite-abandoned bar. But he had to know. He had to know what he’d driven all this way to retrieve. He dragged the bag back into his lap and unzipped it. It was full of dirty clothes – some bloodstained, but mostly just worn for a few days longer than they should have been. Pants, shirts, socks, underwear. A dogeared paperback book. A cheap wristwatch. Cellphone charger. Half a protein bar. A wallet with $6 and a library card. A small stuffed cat that looked like it had been chewed on. There were a few more things stuffed in the pockets – trinkets and papers – but it was all miscellaneous crap. Dirty laundry and maybe half a junk drawer, or the odds and ends swept off a desk. What the hell?

He threw the bag back onto the passenger’s seat, then gripped his steering wheel, trying to swallow down the rage building in the back of his throat. He took a steadying breath, started the car, and pulled out of the parking lot.

***

It was a three and a half hour drive to Oikawa’s hotel, but the sun was still out when he got there. Even if Oikawa was inside (and he was - Iwaizumi could feel him there like the anchor at the end of a chain, pulling him slowly under), he was asleep. He dug around in the glove compartment and found some old napkins, a broken pencil, and a gold Sharpie. He tossed the pencil back in, then pulled the cap off the sharpie with his teeth and wrote on one of the napkins in block letters:

_ I’M NOT YOUR FUCKING ERRAND BOY _

Then he went inside, left the bag in the middle of the unmanned front desk, tucked the napkin under the handle, and walked back out before his feet could take him down the hall to Oikawa’s room.

***

He drove for four hours and every mile marker hurt, like he’d left a piece of himself behind and it was slowly disemboweling him, unraveling his insides and leaving a trail behind him, decorating the fast lane of I-10 in gore. He wanted to cut it off. To cut it out. To sever it now and salvage what he could. But he couldn’t.

***

When Iwaizumi finally made it back to the ranch, it was well past dark and the ache in his chest had faded and festered into cold, trembling anger. Tonight, only the kitchen light was shining through the front windows, and he was relieved to find the driveway empty but for TK’s pickup. He’d texted TK to let him know he’d be late getting back, but had offered no other explanation and ignored Bo’s attempts at a followup, so he wasn’t surprised to find the door unlocked, or to hear chairs clattering when he walked in the front door. He set the hours-old bags of groceries on the table by the door and hung Bo’s keys on the hook above it.

“Hajime,” TK said.

“Don’t.” He clenched and unclenched his fist, grinding his molars together. If he’d been anywhere else, he would have put his fist right through the wall, maybe knocked over a piece of furniture. He felt TK moving behind him, closing in a half-step, and he said again, voice gone husky, “ _ Don’t _ .”

From the entrance to the kitchen, Bo asked, “What happened?”

He clenched his teeth, working his jaw, and huffed out a tight breath through his nose. TK started to move again, and Iwaizumi barked out, “I just drove twelve hours to pick up his  _ fucking  _ laundry.” He whirled on TK. “And if you try to fucking touch me I’ll-”

Too late. Iwaizumi was strong, but TK was fast and his head was clear. Before he could react, TK had moved into his space, dodged the instinctive backhand he threw, and grabbed him up in some bizarre cross between a hug and a grappling hold. Iwaizumi wrenched against his grip, but TK pressed their cheeks together, nuzzling his face down into Iwaizumi’s neck. The skin contact sent a rush of comfort through him – deep shadows on a sun-scorched day. “If you don’t want me to touch you, don’t march in here like you’re about to smash the place up,” TK said. But it was for show; Iwaizumi could feel TK’s worry like a chill breeze prickling his skin. “Just calm down, big guy,” he said, voice dropping to a low, feline rumble as he tightened his arms around Iwaizumi and rubbed his cheek slowly against his neck.

Part of him balked at the affection – the part that didn’t want to be touched, or soothed, that wanted to let his anger burn through him, that wanted the anger to be all there was, that didn’t want anyone to see that it wasn’t. But his fury was already ebbing away, TK’s familiar, steady presence peeling back the veneer and pulling him apart at the seams, deflating him and grounding the heat of his rage. Then TK’s grip loosened and shifted, and Bo was there, too, not pinning him but sheltering him, surrounding him, hands under his shirt and on his skin, night air and pine sap and moonlight, the perfect hush of silent wings. The flame that had been fueling him for hours winked out. His knees buckled, but Bo and TK held him up, lowering to the ground as one body and cocooning him together, even as their touch stripped him bare.

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” he choked out, one arm tight around TK’s shoulders, fingers of his other hand gripping Bo’s hair, clinging to them both. He huffed out a sob, hiding his face in TK’s neck. “I’m going to be his slave.”

***

“You need to talk to Kenma,” TK said, when Iwaizumi had finished recounting everything that had happened that day.

“I don’t want…” Anyone else to see me like this. It was bad enough that  _ they _ had, worse that the full moon had only just passed. He wanted to shed his skin and run, to let the miles blur by beneath his feet, to dive head first into the nearest body of water until he stopped feeling chained, until he stopped feeling like something vital had been removed from the center of his chest. “Not tonight.”

“It’s not going to get better,” TK said. “And he might have answers for you.”

“I’m not sure I want them,” he said, wiping at his nose. “After today, I don’t think I want to know.”

“He might be able to tell you how to fix it,” TK said.

It was an empty promise, a futile hope, but he was too desperate to say no. “Fine. Fine, call him.”

Iwaizumi barely had time to push himself to his feet and scrub his face dry before TK snapped his phone shut and the doorbell rang. Either Kenma had been hiding in the bushes this whole time, or vampires were a hell of a lot faster than he realized. Bo put a steadying arm around Iwaizumi’s waist, and TK opened the door. “Kenma,” he said, sounding relieved. “Thanks for coming.”

Kenma hummed, acknowledging and dismissing as one, and stepped inside. He was small and delicate but not frail, with ghostly pale skin and dark hair pulled back in a long tail. TK leaned down and slid his cheek along Kenma’s, a greeting usually reserved for his pride, and Kenma went on his toes to lean into it, turning his head to lay a soft kiss to the pulse point on TK’s throat, easy and familiar. “Well,” Kenma said, his voice ever so slightly smoky, “I heard there would be pie.” TK breathed out a halfhearted laugh, and Kenma stepped past him, unwinding a knit scarf from around his neck and unbuttoning his coat. Even this late, it was at least ninety outside, but if Kenma felt the heat, he didn’t show it. As he hung up his scarf and coat, Iwaizumi realized that Kenma’s outfit wasn’t the only thing a little bit off about him. His movements were just slightly inhuman, too smooth and efficient, like a drum beaten just off time, and his eyes burned in his slightly-sunken face, sharp and alert and ancient. It made him wonder if Oikawa put a lot of effort into appearing human, or if Kenma was just really bad at it. “You must be Iwaizumi-san,” he said, giving a small bow.

“Ah, Hajime is fine,” he said, returning the bow.

“Call me Kenma,” he said.

“And call us if you need us,” Bo said, putting his hands on TK’s shoulders and angling him toward their bedroom. “We’ll be right down the hall.”

Iwaizumi took a slow breath, trying to decide if it would be worse to have them hear whatever it was that was going to be said, or to be left alone in a room with a strange vampire. Before he could make up his mind, Kenma said, “I hear you’ve had the misfortune of meeting Oikawa-san.”

“Something like that,” he replied. “TK says you might be able to help?”

“Perhaps,” he said, picking up the plastic bag with the pie in it without looking, then motioning for Iwaizumi to follow him into the kitchen. “You should start by telling me what happened.”

“Not to seem ungrateful,” Iwaizumi said, stopping awkwardly by the kitchen table, “but what’s in this for you? Why are you helping me?”

“I could say it was out of the kindness of my heart,” Kenma said, moving through the kitchen with familiar ease, “or out of a sense of duty to our mutual friends, but I doubt you’d believe me.” He brought the kettle over to the sink and started filling it. “Honestly, you’re something of a curiosity, and I’m intrigued. And if that isn’t reason enough, I feel indebted to you for letting me know that Oikawa-san still lives, and that I am not his enemy. It’s more than worth an equal exchange of information, and if something I tell you gives him reason to feel appreciative of me in the future…” He gave a small shrug, setting the kettle on the stove and lighting the burner. “I suspect he will prove a valuable friend to have.”

A blunt delivery of a complex answer. Oikawa would have been horrified, but Iwaizumi found himself surprisingly put at ease. “Alright,” he said, sitting heavily on one of the dining chairs. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Kenma said, going up on his toes to rifle through the tins of tea in the cabinet above the stove, selecting one with care. “TK summarized what you told him, but I’d like to hear it first hand, in as much detail as possible.”

Iwaizumi sighed, folding his hands together on the tabletop, and started over again from the beginning, recounting his story while Kenma measured tea leaves into a pot and poured hot water over them, then opened the pie box and started meticulously slicing it. When he came back to the table, Kenma set a slice of pie in front of him and put a mug in Iwaizumi’s hands. He didn’t really want either of them, but the sharp heat of the mug steadied him and helped him focus, made it easier to repeat back everything like it had all happened to someone else, not him. While he talked, Kenma ate his thin slice of pie one tiny, careful bite at a time, chasing each one with a slow sip of his tea. He only interrupted to ask for clarification, but he seemed to know whenever Iwaizumi tried to omit a detail from his retelling, and wouldn’t let him go on until he’d told him everything. By the time he finished, his own tea had gone cold in the mug, and Kenma had reduced both their slices of pie to crumbs and syrupy residue. When he looked up, Kenma’s expression was hard to read; on someone else, it might have passed for bored.

“I hate to draw this comparison,” Kemna said, “but what you’re describing sounds very much like being enthralled.”

Iwaizumi’s heart squeezed. He tried to keep the panic out of his voice. “TK said-”

“I said  _ like _ being enthralled, not that you are. Do you know what it means to be a thrall?”

“To be under a vampire’s control. A blood slave.”

Kenma’s lips twisted in the barest expression of distaste. “Such a poetic notion; being a slave to the blood.” He gave a small shake of his head. “After you ingest a sufficient amount of a single vampire’s blood, their will begins to subsume your own. Their desires become your desires. If they have a need, you will be compelled to fulfill it. Thralls are like puppets that move at their master’s whim, and without other commands, exist purely to provide their master’s comfort.”

“So, they do stupid shit like drive hours out of their way to pick up a vampire’s dirty laundry?”

Kenma gave a small nod. “Just so.”

“So how am I different?”

“A true thrall would do anything to justify their erratic behavior. They would not question it, and they would go to any lengths to conceal the nature and identity of their master.”

“How do you know I’m not just fighting his control? Resisting him?”

“Look at me,” Kenma said. Iwaizumi lifted his gaze to Kenma’s cheekbone, and Kenma breathed a humorless laugh. “Look me in the eye.” Iwaizumi frowned, but did; if something went wrong, he’d hold TK accountable for it later. Kenma’s eyes were a pale honey brown, more catlike than human, and he had just a moment to wonder if it was because he fed on TK before he felt the pull of Kenma’s gaze, the deep amber of a drowsy, lingering afternoon. “Iwaizumi Hajime,” he said, raspy voice resonating with power, tugging at Iwaizumi’s guts, “I compel you to name your master.”

“I am unbound,” he said, the words seeming to originate from his lips rather than his thoughts. “I heed no master.” Kenma closed his eyes slowly and dropped his gaze, and Iwaizumi jerked back in his chair with a gasp. “What the  _ fuck? _ ”

The faintest smile tugged at Kenma’s lips, “If you don’t believe me, at least believe yourself.”

Iwaizumi put a hand to his mouth. “What does that mean?”

“It means Oikawa-san does not and cannot command you the way he would a thrall,” he said.

“Then why…” He stopped, took a breath. “Why do I keep going to him?”

“I’m not certain,” Kenma said. “But I think…” He pursed his lips, frowning subtly. “Shapeshifters often describe their transformation as being taken over by a separate entity, a primal force whose will… engages with their own, either harmoniously or in conflict.”

“That’s… yeah, I mean, close enough?”

“And for pair bonded shapeshifters, these animal-selves can interact with one another, and with their hosts?”

He prickled a little at “hosts,” but nodded. “As far as I understand, yes. But what does this have to do with-”

“You are not under Oikawa-san’s command, but you feel the pull of his  _ will _ .”

“You think-” Iwaizumi sat back, wide-eyed. “You think that this is…” he gestured vaguely at the phantom hollow in the center of his chest, “…his wolf?”

“Or the closest approximation,” he said with a small, affirmative nod.

He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to conflate the blind, constant pull he felt from Oikawa with the subtle feedback he got from Bo or TK when they touched – the instinctive understanding of their wellbeing and desires; to somehow relate the undeniable compulsion of Oikawa to the softer desire to please, to soothe, to fit together. But when they’d been in the same room, it had felt similar, Oikawa’s draw like silk sheets pulling him close, telling him where to touch and what to say, more total and intimate than it had ever been with anyone else. As soon as he left, the connection had become a noose pulling tighter, but that morning… “Is that even possible?”

“There is precedent,” Kenma said, lowering his voice to a whisper and switching into Japanese, “but what I’m about to tell you cannot leave this room. Do you understand?”

Iwaizumi cast a glance back in the direction of the master bedroom. “Why the secrecy?” he asked in Japanese.

“Because I know he’s listening, and part of what I’m going to tell you would start a conversation that he and I aren’t ready to have yet. Do I have your word?”

He didn’t answer right away, taking a moment to weigh Kenma with his gaze. Eventually, he said, “If he can keep you a secret from me, I can keep your secret from him, as long as it’s not something that will hurt either of them.”

Kenma’s lips curled into another faint smile. “I see why he values your opinion so highly. I think telling him, at this point, would hurt them both more than not knowing.”

“Okay. Tell me.”

“There is a rumor – and I believe it to be true, because this is a rumor I have heard many times, and it is not the sort of rumor that springs from nowhere – that the Marquise of New York is pair bonded with a werepanther, and that they have ruled various cities together for at least the last two hundred years, if not much longer than that.”

“ _ Two hundred years _ ?”

Kenma gave a slow nod. “When consumed regularly in small quantities, a vampire’s blood can extend the lifespan of most mortal creatures almost indefinitely.”

“Are you saying that-” he started, falling back to English until Kenma shot him a sharp look. “Are you saying,” he began again in Japanese, “that I could be bound to Tooru forever?”

“If it were something you both desired, yes.”

“I don’t want this,” Iwaizumi said, trying to swallow down his own panic. “I can barely -  I don’t want to be at his beck and call like this.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think he’s doing this to you on purpose.”

“What?”

“I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it. Oikawa-san is many things, and manipulative is certainly one of them, but he is not cruel, no matter what he would have people think.”

Iwaizumi wanted to argue, but his instincts said that Kenma was telling the truth. Instead he asked, “What makes you say that?”

Kenma traced his fingertip slowly around the rim of his empty mug. “To understand Oikawa-san, you need to understand how the Bishop runs Louisiana. In most places, a blood bond is simply a pact – a basic agreement for mutual protection, usually. For the Bishop, it is accompanied by a literal contract, dozens of pages long, setting a strict code of behavior. His wolves are required to live in-house, work for him exclusively, and be available at all hours, for any task, including bloodletting for him or his guests. They are well cared for, and are at no risk of discovery, but have no lives outside the Bishop’s coterie. And this is the standard he sets for all deacons throughout the state.”

“Oikawa doesn’t keep his wolves in-house,” Iwaizumi said.

“No. Much to the Bishop’s chagrin, all of Oikawa-san’s wolves live fairly normal human lives. Do you want to know what the terms of his blood bond with his wolves are?”

“Tell me.”

“That if he calls, they will answer, and if they call, he will answer.” Kenma shifted in his seat. “In practice, it’s a bit more complicated, of course, but in letter and in spirit, it’s an equal exchange. Until…recently, I believe his wolves loved and respected him a great deal.”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Even so, I can’t believe he’s totally unaware of what’s happening. It feels like…” He put his hand to his chest, rubbing the empty spot with his knuckles. It felt like a hooked fish pulling insistently on a line tied tight around his sternum. No. “It feels like he’s pulling on my leash.”

“You would know better than I,” Kenma said.

“What do you mean?”

“What’s his favorite color?”

He turned the question over in his head, and before he could respond that he didn’t know, his mind provided a simple flash: the exact shade of blue of his work shirt, then the molten gold of his wolf eyes. His cheeks darkened, and he forced himself to pretend that Kenma couldn’t sense the blood pounding through him. “Blue.”

“What’s his favorite food?”

Another flash: trees and moss, mineral-rich water, the pounding fury of the hunt, hot crimson blood pulsing from his thigh as his wolf tore through him, unchained and euphoric. “He’s a vampire,” Iwaizumi said flatly, “he only drinks blood.”

Kenma hummed, pushing his plate to the side but not commenting. “Why is he doing this to you?”

To this, there was no ready answer; nothing but mild bewilderment. “I don’t know.”

“Does he know what he’s doing to you?”

He’d found the duffel bag, but that knowledge was mixed with emotions that Iwaizumi couldn’t parse – relief and anger and misery and panic and confusion.

When he didn’t answer right away, Kenma asked, “What does he want from you?”

“He wants me to call him,” he answered automatically.

“That’s it?” Kenma asked, not leading but surprised.

It didn’t stop a rush of images from rushing through Iwaizumi’s mind in response. He flushed, dark red, and said, simply, “No.” Kenma sputtered out a tiny laugh, and Iwaizumi frowned. “You said your Marquise rules jointly with a werepanther. What would that mean, with him, in Louisiana?”

Kenma sobered, giving the question serious thought. After a moment, he said, “I think it would depend a lot on you, Hajime. But you should know that even as young as Oikawa-san is, he’s very ambitious. The Bishop is old enough to end religious debates by citing conversations he had with the founders of the religions in question, but Oikawa-san would dethrone him if he could. I think he’ll probably get himself killed trying, but I suppose that isn’t really what you’re asking.” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his seat and weighing Iwaizumi with his eyes. “The fact that you don’t look Japanese would be an asset. The Bishop wouldn’t assume that you speak the language, so it would be easy for you to overhear sensitive information. If it were me, I would make you look as exotic and ornamental as possible – paint you like a pharaoh and shackle you in gold and let you stand around in the Bishop’s court looking pretty until he caught on.” He gave a slight shrug of his shoulders. “But Oikawa-san loses his subtlety when he loses his temper. He might have you stand as his partner from the start.”

Iwaizumi frowned, nodding thoughtfully and chewing his lip as he turned what Kenma had said over in his head. It was a lot to take in, none of it expected, and none of it what he’d ever thought he wanted, but if it was true, it at least wasn’t as bad as what he’d feared. There was one thing Kenma hadn’t explained away, though, and before he could think better of it, Iwaizumi blurted out, “What about the dreams?”

Kenma let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I suspect the dreams you’ve been having are a symptom of your mental connection. Again, I doubt he’s causing them intentionally. Vampires are built to be able to subdue their prey, but every vampire does it differently. My bite is soporific, as is my mind control. Oikawa-san’s are seductive. It stands to reason that what you’re experiencing is your subconscious responding to the intrusion of his mind while you’re both asleep. If you tried, you could probably creep into his dreams, too. In fact, you might be already and just not know it.”

“Great.”

Kenma gave another passive shrug. “With time and practice, I think you’ll be able to minimize the undesirable consequences of your connection. But it won’t get better until you speak to each other.”

Iwaizumi breathed out a humorless laugh. “So your advice is, ‘call him’?”

Kenma stood, picking up his empty mug and plate. “If I thought saying it would make you do it, I would.” He crossed to the other side of the kitchen and set his dishes down in the sink, then said, “You might want to consider the possibility that you aren’t the only one that’s confused by what’s happening to you.”

“He hasn’t exactly showed up at my doorstep,” Iwaizumi snapped.

“No, but because you haven’t spoken, he doesn’t know that you’re being drawn back to him any more than you know what’s been happening to him for the last three nights.”

“You think something’s happening to him, too?”

“Given what you’ve been through, I would be very surprised if it wasn’t.” Before Iwaizumi could muster an argument, Kenma turned and looked down the hall towards Bo and TK’s bedroom. “I need to be going soon, but I hope you’ll keep me apprised of what happens.” He dragged his eyes away from the closed door and said, “And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry it took so long for us to meet. You’re very important to them, and I was uncertain how you would react to me.”

“I knew there was someone,” Iwaizumi admitted, “but I could tell TK didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t push.”

Kenma hummed. “If you’ll excuse me?” Iwaizumi nodded and waved him off, and Kenma disappeared down the hall, the barest flash of movement followed by the swift but quiet opening and closing of the bedroom door.

Iwaizumi scrubbed his face with his hands and sighed, then pushed to his feet and went over to the kitchen sink to wash the dishes Bo had left to soak. It was a pleasantly mindless task, which was exactly what he needed. He didn’t get far, though, before he heard the bedroom door open again and felt the familiar prickle of Bo approaching behind him. “Hey,” he said.

Bo slumped down into the chair Iwaizumi had abandoned and said, “Hey.”

“Everything alright?”

Bo snorted. “I should be asking you that.”

Iwaizumi dried his hands on the dish towel, then retrieved the box of apple pie from the counter and two forks from the drawer. “I’m surprised you aren’t in there with them,” Iwaizumi said, setting the pie tin between them and handing Bo a fork. “I was ready to go sleep in a pile of pillows.”

Bo shook his head, slicing off a piece of the pie and stuffing it in his mouth. “The blood thing is their thing. I don’t like what it does to me.”

“What do you mean?”

Bo frowned, taking another bite. “I like Kenma just fine, but it…” He wrinkled his nose. “When he bites you, it’s like being drugged. Like taking a sleeping pill, kinda. It pulls you under, and you can’t stop it.” He shuddered. “Freaks me out. It’s good for Keiji, which I get, because of the insomnia, but I hate seeing what it does to TK.” Iwaizumi made a questioning hum, prompting him to continue as he dug into the pie himself. “He’s always so… sharp, you know? Like he sees everything, and is always,” he gestured broadly with his hands, “you know?”

Iwaizumi nodded, “He’s… observant? Watchful.”

“Yeah, something like that. But when Kenma bites him, he just gets… soft. Like a…” He laughed dryly at himself. “Like a panther turned into a sleepy kitten. I know for him it’s like being able to let go when he can’t, usually, but I wish it didn’t take  _ that _ ,” he said, nodding toward the closed bedroom door, “for him to have that. It takes him a while to come back from it, too.”

“You know he probably feels the same way about you, when you’re slow to come back after a shift.”

Bo sat up straighter, puffing out like he was going to argue, but instead he huffed and let his shoulders sag, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I know. That’s why I don’t give him shit about it, but I don’t have to be in the room while he feeds the habit.” He stiffened as soon as he said it, turning to look at Iwaizumi with wide eyes. “Shit, man, I shouldn’t be saying this to you, not when you-”

“It’s okay,” he said, and meant it. “It’s something I need to think about.” He frowned. “I can see myself getting…”  _ Addicted _ . “Lost in it.” He set his fork down in the pie tin. “When Tooru bit me, I didn’t want him to stop. He could have drained me dry and I would have loved every second of it.”

“Fuckin’ vampires, man,” Bo said. Iwaizumi hummed an agreement, and let Bo feed him the last bite of pie.

***

When they went back to the bedroom, the window was open, Kenma was gone, and TK was sprawled out languidly in bed. He was sound asleep, breathing slow and deep, a lazy smile on his lips and one arm draped across his eyes, showing off the two bright red puncture wounds on the inside of his bicep. The sky outside was just beginning to lighten with dawn, and Iwaizumi let himself pretend it had been an accident that he’d missed the window to call Oikawa before he bedded down for the day. That he wasn’t still trying to decide whether he was more afraid of the thought of himself chained up and drained dry, or of how badly he wanted it.

***

The third night, Iwaizumi was the one sneaking up from underneath the sheets, peppering Oikawa with gentle bites from ankle to knee to thigh, nipping at the curve of his hip and trailing his lips up along his chest and neck until he found Oikawa’s mouth and kissed him, slow and hot and probing. When he drew back for air, he hiked Oikawa’s legs up around his hips and pushed him down against-

-they were on the sofa in Oikawa’s room, and the sheet draped over them was crimson. Oikawa looked up at him, lips swollen and eyes hooded, and gasped, “How are you here?”

Iwaizumi jerked awake, heart hammering in his chest, and clamped a hand over his mouth to cover a whimper. He was so hard it hurt, every inch of his skin achingly sensitive, and the sensation of bare skin pressed against his own lingered, even as cold dread chased the seductive whisper of Oikawa from his mind. It took him a dizzy moment to realize that it wasn’t actually Oikawa in bed with him. Bo was plastered to his back, face buried between his shoulder blades, one arm slung over his waist and the other pinned beneath his neck. TK was pressed just as close, head tucked beneath Iwaizumi’s chin, arms curled against his chest, long legs tangled with his. And TK was purring, loudly, which meant either he was having a really nice dream of his own, or they’d both been picking up on Iwaizumi’s.

Iwaizumi closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing and corral his thoughts. Kenma had been right. It hadn’t just been a dream. He’d pushed into Oikawa’s consciousness hard enough to wake him – deep enough that it felt like he’d really been there in the room with him. Which meant they’d – if not skinwalked in their sleep, then something terrifyingly close to it. And somewhere in the tangle of his awareness of TK and Bo, he could still feel Oikawa tugging at him, elegant hands cinching a tie too tight, a threat and promise in one. He choked out a soft, ragged gasp. He needed to get out of bed, away from them, needed to clear his head. But before he could even begin to free himself from the tangle of limbs, TK started tracing slow circles on his hipbone. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, heavy with sleep, “we’re here.”

The gentle brush of TK’s fingertips – probably meant to be soothing – sent heat surging through him. Iwaizumi gasped, and Bo shifted behind him, snuggling closer. “Is he gone?”

“Mm, finally,” TK murmured, rubbing his cheek against Iwaizumi’s bare chest.

They were both humming with want, skin hot against his own, but beneath and between it was the tang of worry and unease. Apparently his connection with Oikawa had been palpable enough that Bo and TK had felt him, too, as clearly as if he’d been in the room with them. He felt another tug at his chest, like his heart fluttering off-beat, and he reached up and threaded his hands in TK’s hair, holding him close to steady himself. His hands were shaking, and his voice came out breathier than he liked. “What happened?”

“You’ve been talking to him all night,” Bo complained, clearly not quite awake.

TK hummed an absent agreement, the low rumble of his purr quieting to a steady, silent thrum. “We would’ve left you alone, but you got restless and started tearing up the bed whenever we tried to leave.”

“Sorry.” He let out a frustrated huff. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Bo murmured, holding Iwaizumi tighter and slinging a leg over his hip, pulling the three of them closer together.

TK nuzzled at the base of Iwaizumi’s neck, his voice accompanied by the ghost of lips on skin. “Don’t apologize for needing us once in a while.” He pressed a soft kiss to the hollow of Iwaizumi’s throat, lips curling into a smile against his skin. “But I  _ did _ tell you it was going to get worse.”

“Not helping,” Iwaizumi said, voice tight.

TK’s purr flared back to life. He trailed his lips up along Iwaizumi’s throat and whispered against his jaw, “What can we do to help?”

Beneath the tease and promise, Iwaizumi could feel the weight of the real question TK was asking: was this still okay? After last night, they knew what Oikawa was to him, even if he didn’t fully understand what that meant yet himself. But if he put all the confusing bullshit aside, Oikawa was just some guy he’d hooked up with in a roadside motel. Bo and TK were his people. Right now, he needed that. He smoothed one hand along Bo’s thigh, kneading the muscle and hiking him closer, then tightened his fingers in TK’s hair, drawing his head back and looking into his eyes. “I think you know exactly what you can do to help,” he said, letting the rumble resonate through his voice as he leaned down to kiss him.

He felt something thrum between them – pleasure, relief, contentment, anticipation – and being caught in their web, at least, was a familiar constant. It was like being submerged in water that wouldn’t drown him, leaving him weightless and electrified as their connection flowed through him, fur and feathers teasing against his wolf as they fell into sync with each other. He broke away from TK’s mouth with a gasp as their connection solidified, like a current jolting through him. Bo’s hand splayed out on his chest, holding him steady at the point where they passed through him, and Iwaizumi tipped his head back, breathing hard.

Bo and TK slotted themselves against him, a tangle of bodies and limbs that should have been haphazard, but with them was smooth, almost choreographed, and intimately familiar. Bo rolled his hips, grinding against Iwaizumi’s ass, and Iwaizumi turned his head so they could kiss over his shoulder. TK slipped his fingers into the waistband of Iwaizumi’s pants and started to push them off, kissing a slow line down the center of his chest. He drew teasing circles on Iwaizumi’s skin, taking it slow, trailing light touches of lips on his sensitive skin, just below his bellybutton, then when he’d pushed his pants down around his thighs, into the hollow of his hip, kissing a wide circle around his cock without ever touching.

Iwaizumi whimpered, needy, against Bo’s mouth as TK sighed, hot breath on the wet tip of his cock. The ghost of fingers tightened in his hair – Bo’s fingers in TK’s hair – and he moaned,  _ hard _ , as Bo pushed TK’s head down impatiently and his mouth closed around the length of him. Bo echoed the sound, hips hitching with a small, controlled thrust, like it was him in TK’s mouth and he was being careful not to choke him. TK hummed, and it vibrated through all three of them. Iwaizumi threaded a hand in TK’s hair next to Bo’s, an anchor as the edges of himself started to blur. TK slid a hand up along Bo’s leg and up under his shorts to grab a handful of his ass, pulling them roughly together until the tip of Iwaizumi’s cock hit the back of TK’s throat.

Bo’s toes curled. Or maybe it was his own. TK started kneading his ass (Bo’s?), long, strong fingers working the firm muscle in time with the motions of his mouth. Iwaizumi flung out a hand, searching blindly through the shelves built into their headboard until he found a bottle of lube and passed it to… someone.

No, it definitely  _ was  _ his ass TK was squeezing and spreading, because a moment later Bo joined in, pressing a slick fingertip slowly inside him. He groaned, pushing back against Bo’s hand, and he was rewarded with a soft, familiar sigh against his ear, a little nip to his earlobe, and Bo’s breathless murmur, “Gonna make sure you don’t forget about us.”

He started to protest, to dismiss the notion entirely because how could he  _ ever _ , but before he could do more than open his mouth, Bo sank his teeth into his shoulder, right on top of the fresh scar on his skin. Oikawa’s bite mark. Thinking his name was enough to summon him, a churning sense of wrongness in his gut – Bo’s teeth didn’t quite match the mark, weren’t the  _ right _ teeth, not the ones that should have been biting him. The feeling wasn’t his, and he balked at the uncompromising certainty of it and pushed back, pushed it down and away, but it fought him, stubborn and petulant and possessive, like a child clinging to a favorite toy, refusing to share. It made him prickle, because he was no one’s plaything, and Oikawa had no place here, no  _ right  _ to interfere. But this time, when he tried to push Oikawa out of his head, he was answered with another tug in the center of his chest, sharp enough to make him gasp.

It was different. Insistent. Like he was being- “Stop,” he said, voice edged with panic, though Bo and TK had already drawn back and gone still against him. He gripped at his chest, eyes gone wide. “Something’s wrong.” He felt the pull again, sharper, harder, demanding,  _ calling _ , and he sucked in air and curled in on himself. “Something’s  _ wrong _ .”

“What’s happening?” TK asked, putting a steadying hand on his hip.

“I don’t-” Then he heard it, quiet, in the back of his mind: a small voice, pleading,  _ Hajime _ . “No.  _ No _ .”  _ Hajime _ .

He only had a moment to be afraid before it started, his ribs creaking and then cracking as Oikawa dragged the sleeping wolf out of him by force.  _ Hajime _ . He screamed. It was wrong,  _ wrong _ , his wolf clawing for purchase, not ready to be turned loose, even as patchy fur erupted from his skin and the joint in his shoulder dislocated. When Oikawa had called him before, his wolf had been ready and willing, but this – this felt like being dragged at the end of a barbed choke chain, like Oikawa was trying to rip his wolf out of him entirely rather than just call it to the surface.

Bo grabbed onto his arm - jerked back with a cry of pain, then scrambled to the edge of the bed. Iwaizumi’s vision had gone lupine, casting the bedroom in a blurry grayscale, but the bird looked like prey, fluttering and afraid, and part of him wanted to taste his blood, to rip him open and bathe in it, because he hated, hated,  _ hated _ –

TK put his full weight on Iwaizumi’s back, pinning him to the mattress, and Iwaizumi dug claws into it, shredding. Not hate,  _ jealousy _ , and not his, not  _ him _ . He tried to hold onto that thought, but his body wrenched, hips realigning and misaligning until the pain was blinding. His ribs cinched tighter, not like they were reshaping themselves into a wolf’s but like something had collapsed inside him, a sucking black hole that stole the air from his lungs, breath coming in panicked sips and then not at all. The void ate up the sound of TK’s voice trying to call him back, then stole the light from the room, leaving the panicked look in Bo’s golden eyes and then nothing but darkness.

He was dying. The calmness of the realization was enough for him to know it was true. Oikawa had squeezed all the air out of his lungs and left him to suffocate. His life didn’t flash before his eyes, but it was almost, almost funny when the darkness was broken by a pinprick of light at the end of a long tunnel. Of course this one, cartoonish vision of death would be real. He started walking toward the light, answering a call that was silent but that vibrated through every fiber of him. As he drew closer to the source of the light, the tunnel started to take shape around him, stone untouched by man but smoothed by millennia of ice and water, freezing and melting. His breath fogged in the chill air.

The brighter light farther down the tunnel caught a single gossamer thread stretched out in a tight line front of him. Not just in front of him; it was attached to the center of his chest, drawing him forward. He touched it, curious, just a brush of fingertips plucking the taut string, but his hand came away bloodied, the almost-invisible thread sharper than razor wire. On the other end, someone was pulling.

He let the tug lead him forward one step at a time, but the thread never slackened, like he was being reeled in on a line that was in danger of snapping. The corridor emptied into a wide cavern, open to the moonlit sky above, a deep, still pool of water below, and a small, ragged tangle of limbs crouched beside it, wrapped in a tattered red cloth that was clinging to the floor, wet and heavy with blood. He didn’t recognize what it was until he took a step forward and it pulled, keeping the line between them taut and tugging, tugging, until he was standing right in front of it. Not it. Him.

Tooru.

He pulled again, forcing Iwaizumi to drop to his knees, until there was no more give. Up close, Iwaizumi could see that Oikawa had wound the fine, fine thread around his hands, over and over again, so tight that it cut into his flesh. Both his hands were purpled and dripping blood, but he pulled in every bit of slack in the thread, winding and gripping and bundling it up like he’d rather lose his hands than his hold. He was rocking, slowly, head bowed, bloodied hands cradled to his chest, murmuring under his breath  _ Hajime, Hajime _ . He pulled again, but there was nothing left to give. Iwaizumi leaned forward until Oikawa’s bloody hands were pressed against his chest, and Oikawa dug his nails into flesh, clawing, digging, searching for the point where his two natures met, where his wolf – stretched to nothing between them – was anchored to the rest of him. 

“Tooru,” he said. Nails dug deeper into his skin. He reached out and touched Oikawa’s face, forcing him to look up at him. His hair was flat and greasy, his beautiful brown eyes sunken and bloodshot, his face hollow and wan in a way it hadn’t been even when he was dying. When he lifted his head, Iwaizumi saw the other end of the thread that connected them disappearing into the core of Oikawa’s chest, less than a hand span away from the cross-shaped scar.

“I couldn’t find you.” Oikawa’s voice was raspy, raw, husky.

“I’m right here,” Iwaizumi said, taking Oikawa’s ruined hands in his own, trying to free them.

Oikawa jerked his hands back, tugging so hard that Iwaizumi fell forward into him, knocking them both to the ground. Oikawa was breathing hard, wheezing, pressing his face to Iwaizumi’s skin, writhing underneath him like a pinned animal. “Something’s missing. I’m alone. I don’t - it’s  _ missing _ , I’m  _ broken _ , I didn’t, you  _ took _ it, I-”

Iwaizumi wrapped his arms around Oikawa, pulling him close and trapping his bloody hands between them. He nuzzled his face down into Oikawa’s lank hair and murmured, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.” Oikawa whined, trying to break free of his grasp, but he was weak and frail, all bare bones and knobbly joints. Iwaizumi held him tighter. “Tooru, you have to let go. I’ll come back to you, but if you don’t let go, I’m going to die, and then you’re going to feel like this forever, and I won’t be able to make it stop.” Oikawa let out a little panicked hiccup, and Iwaizumi traced his thumbs down along his spine. “You’re hurting me, Tooru. I didn’t mean to do this to you, but I can’t make it right if you don’t let me go.”

Oikawa turned, slowly, staring off into nothing.

Iwaizumi frowned. “What is it?”

“Someone’s calling.”

Then it hit him. He was unconscious; Oikawa was still asleep. Maybe if he woke up…“You have to answer it,” he said. “That’s the deal, right?”

Oikawa nodded, slowly, and started moving toward the sound only he could hear.

Iwaizumi caught his wrist. “Please.”

Oikawa looked down at Iwaizumi like he’d forgotten he was there, then down at his death grip on the thread he’d wound around his hands again and again. He unclenched his fists, and then he was gone.

Iwaizumi sucked in air. His body was a mess of mismatched parts and undiluted pain, and he was stretched out awkwardly on the bed, hands pinning his uneven arms down at an uncomfortable angle, a heavy weight in the center of his back. When his hearing came back to him, it wasn’t through human ears. From somewhere close behind him, TK was shouting, “-on’t know what the fuck you’re doing to him, but you need to  _ stop,  _ because I’m about half a heartfelt  _ Hajime _ away from having a big  _ fucking  _ werewolf in my bed.” His whole body felt fragmented and broken, but there were golden eyes waiting for him when he opened his own, inches away and written with a different kind of fear. He wheezed out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a whine. “Yes, in my bed, not that that’s any of your-”

“He’s awake,” Bo said, letting go of Iwaizumi’s arms to cup his face in his hands. He rubbed small circles at the base of his ears, soothing, reassuring. “TK, he’s breathing, but I think he’s stuck.”

“What?”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi gasped. He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath, forcing his lungs open, like struggling against a cinched corset. “Please.” Iwaizumi reached back toward TK with an arm that was bent at the wrong angle and didn’t quite move right, but TK seemed to understand, and leaned forward, turning on the speaker on Iwaizumi’s cell phone and holding it near his head.

“He still can’t breathe,” Bo said, but his voice seemed distant. “His ribs are still-”

“Tooru,” he said again, his voice hardly human, “not a dream. You have...” He closed his eyes, whimpering as he felt another sharp tug, felt the bones in his spine shift beneath his skin. “Hurting me, Tooru. Can’t turn without you, can’t turn back, you won’t let me.”

“You’re killing him,” TK said from somewhere far away. There were hands on him, and Iwaizumi realized, abstractly, that he was crying. “Oh my god, you’re going to kill him.”

His vision was starting to blur around the edges again when he heard a voice, tinny from the phone and hard as ice, “ _ Iwaizumi Hajime, heed my call _ .” The line went dead, and Iwaizumi’s wolf slammed back into him hard enough to bow his back and unseat TK from on top of him. He bucked and writhed, screaming and clawing at the bed as his wolf scrambled desperately back inside him and his body righted itself, out of order and out of his control, violent in its haste, until he blacked out from the pain.

***

When he woke, he had no idea how much time had passed – seconds or minutes or hours or days, but as soon as he was sure his hands were hands and his feet were feet and that he was still able to breathe, he scrambled toward the door. His limbs were still lax and pliant, too loose to hold his weight, so when he hit the edge of the mattress, he fell right off it, collapsing into a pile at the foot of the bed, but that didn’t deter him. He dragged himself along the floor until strong arms slipped under his armpits and lifted him to his knees.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Bo asked.

“I have to-” It hurt. Everything hurt. He’d never hurt this badly in his life. “He needs me.”

“Not like this, he doesn’t,” TK said.

But he did, he  _ did _ , he needed him  _ now _ , he needed him  _ days ago _ , he should have gone back, should never have left, should have stayed at his heel like a good dog, anything, anything but  _ that _ , that mess of blood and fear and pain and despair. He squirmed, fighting against Bo’s grip, but if he pulled any harder, he was going to dislocate both his shoulders, he could feel it. He choked on a sob, falling slack. “Let me go. Please, you have to let me go. He-”

“He’s still asleep,” TK said, gentle and diplomatic, “and will be for hours. You can at least take a shower and eat before you leave. Unless you want to show up at his doorstep covered in blood.”

“What?”

TK knelt in front of him and pointed at his chest. Iwaizumi looked down and – oh. His chest was covered in ragged claw marks and he was streaked with blood down to his knees. It looked like he’d tried to dig his own heart out. “Was it because you couldn’t breathe, or did he make you do this?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “He was trying to find me.”

TK blinked, slow, cat-like. “What do you mean?”

He wanted to rub the hollow place in the core of his chest. “This whole time,” he said. “He didn’t know what was happening. He found his other half and I took it away from him and he didn’t understand. He- oh, god, I kept going back because he needed me. He just wanted to be whole again, and I-”

“You couldn’t have known that,” Bo said.

“I should have. He didn’t- I was scared, of course he was scared too.  _ He  _ didn’t know what was happening.”

“Neither did you,” TK said.

“Didn’t I?” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want to admit it, but-”

“So get yourself cleaned up, and then go make it right,” TK said firmly, brooking no argument. “You have plenty of time to get there before he wakes up.”

TK was staring at him stonily, daring him to challenge his word, and Iwaizumi couldn’t hold his gaze. He let his head droop and gave a small nod. TK was right; he couldn’t even stand, there was no way he could get himself back to Baton Rouge like this. “Okay,” he breathed, then again, “okay. Can you-”

Before he could ask, Bo pulled him the rest of the way to his feet, steadying him so TK could scoop him up in his arms, cradling him against his chest like a newborn. “I’ll go make food,” Bo said, going on his toes to kiss TK over Iwaizumi’s head. As he started to leave the room, though, Iwaizumi caught his arm. He was so weak he barely hooked his fingers on his bicep, but Bo stopped anyway, turning to peek at him curiously.

“Did I hurt you?”

Bo grinned. “Just gave me a little jolt, that’s all,” he said, brushing a thumb along Iwaizumi’s forehead, gentle, but like he was rubbing something off his skin – probably more blood.

“I tried to-”

Bo interrupted him with a soft peck on the lips, then said, soft and serious, “You didn’t.” When Iwaizumi started to object again, Bo flicked the tip of his nose. “I’m going to go make breakfast.”

“Please do,” TK said, hefting Iwaizumi in his arms. “He isn’t as light as he looks.”

“You heard the man,” Bo said, patting Iwaizumi on the cheek before heading out of the room.

TK hefted him in his arms again, then made his way toward the bathroom. He shouldered open the door and kicked the lid of the toilet shut before setting Iwaizumi down on it. Iwaizumi slumped against the tank, his whole body still limp and unwieldy. “Don’t try to make a run for it, okay?” TK said, hands hovering close to make sure he wouldn’t tip over.

Iwaizumi wheezed out a halfhearted laugh. His chest hurt, inside and out, and his throat was still raw from screaming. “I can barely sit up straight.”

“Don’t fall on your face, then,” he said, plugging the bottom of their huge bathtub and turning on the water. Iwaizumi grunted and watched him work, testing the temperature of the water and adjusting the knobs, measuring out a capful of this and a scoop of that until the bath was fragrant and colorful and equal parts water and bubbles.

“I’m just going to get the water dirty,” Iwaizumi said.

TK rolled his eyes. “That’s sort of the point.”

“It just seems like a waste of your… stuff, is all.”

TK hummed, absent and dismissive, then held out his arms. “C’mon, let’s get you in the tub.”

“What, you’re going to leave me in there alone? I might drown in all those bubbles.”

“I can stay in here if you want me to, but-”

“TK.”

TK wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Taking a bath with me?”

TK opened his mouth. Closed it. Crossed his arms over his chest. “Look, I know the three of us have had a lot of fun, but now that-”

“Don’t.” Iwaizumi reached up, taking one of TK’s hands and pulling it away from his chest. “Don’t pretend we only do this for fun.” TK hugged his arm tighter against his stomach, still refusing to meet his gaze. Iwaizumi lifted TK’s hand to his lips and murmured against his knuckles, “You know that’s not why I’m here. Why I keep coming back.”

“He’s not going to share you.”

“He doesn’t get to decide that.”

TK pulled his hand back, gently, but it still stung. “Neither do you, Hajime. Not by yourself. Not anymore.”

He felt himself puff up, ready to fight, every part of him balking at the reprimand, at the truth of it. But he couldn’t deny it, so he bit down his retort and said, “I know. We’re going to have to talk, but can we save the drastic changes until after that happens?” He looked up at TK, pleading, “If you really don’t think I’m going to do everything in my power to make him understand how important you are, then go. Otherwise, can we please get in the bath? I really don’t want to spend all day sitting naked on your toilet and bleeding all over your floor.”

TK’s expression was unreadable. For a split second, Iwaizumi was sure he was going to turn and walk out the door. Then he said, “That’s sort of what it’s for.”

Iwaizumi blinked. “What?”

“It’s why we went with the porcelain tile and minimal grout lines,” TK said, nodding at the floor.

Iwaizumi looked down at his feet, which were spread out bonelessly in front of him, leaving bloody smears and drips by his heels. The tiles on the floor were huge squares, with almost no seams between them. He choked out a startled laugh, and it tumbled into a breathless giggle. Before it could edge into hysteria, TK said, “Come on, let’s get in the tub before the water gets cold.”

Iwaizumi quieted and nodded, slipping his arms around TK’s waist and drawing him close. He pressed his forehead to the flat of TK’s stomach, and TK smoothed a hand down along his back, soothing. Iwaizumi sighed, letting TK take more of his weight, and ran his hands slowly down TK’s sides, ribs to waist to hip, memorizing the curves of him. He slid his hands under the waistband of TK’s loose pajama pants and pushed them off him, his hands trailing down with them, over the curve of TK’s butt and along his thighs until his pants dropped around his ankles. On any other day, he would have pulled TK right down into his lap. Instead, he pressed one soft kiss to his stomach, then held his arms up over his head like a child and let TK lift him to his feet and maneuver him into the bathtub.

It took a little finesse, and he left a few bloody handprints on the wall in the process, but eventually they both got settled in the tub, TK leaned against the side with his head lolled over the edge, Iwaizumi between his legs, head rested back against TK’s chest. He was still wheezing from the exertion when TK started scooping water in his hand and letting it dribble down Iwaizumi’s chest, carefully rinsing away the blood. “I don’t envy you,” he said, pushing away the bubbles and scooping up another handful of water. “It’s not going to be a fun conversation to have.”

“I think…” He closed his eyes and grunted as TK’s hand wandered down his stomach before coming up with more water. He shifted, laying his head back on TK’s shoulder. “Once we work things out, I don’t think it’ll be so bad. I mean, he’s a vampire, and you felt what his influence does to people. You really think he’s going to be Mr. Monogamy?”

TK hummed thoughtfully. “But it’s one thing to play with your food. Another thing to say, hey, baby, I want to introduce you to my boyfriend, and his boyfriend who is also my boyfriend, and my other boyfriend, and-” Iwaizumi let out a little rumbling growl of displeasure, and TK amended, “And my girlfriend, and my other b-” Iwaizumi growled again, turning to give TK’s neck a reprimanding little nip.

“You know I hate that word,” he told TK’s collarbone.

TK let out a low, rumbling laugh. “I’m sure Tooru-chan won’t be too fond of it, either.” Iwaizumi huffed, and TK pressed an apologetic kiss down into his hair. After a moment, he asked, “Who else are you gonna tell him about?”

“I dunno. Probably not a good idea to lead with a list of all the people I’m sleeping with.” TK snorted, and Iwaizumi shook his head. “If it’s not a big deal, he probably won’t even bother to ask. If it is…” he gave a half shrug. “I could make it a shorter list, if I had to.”

“How short are we talking?” TK asked, teasing.

Iwaizumi elbowed him lightly in the ribs. “Don’t be jealous. One is enough.”

“Not jealous, just curious.”

“And yet, you’re going to make me name names.” TK shrugged, and Iwaizumi sighed, closing his eyes and snuggling back against TK’s chest. “You and Bo, obviously,” he said, finding TK’s hand beneath the water and giving it a squeeze. “Maybe Aone, but he’s…”

“Different,” TK agreed.

Iwaizumi hummed. He spent a moment turning names and faces over in his mind, weighing each one and considering what it was that bound him to each of them. All his closest relationships were defined by physicality, but most of them were sexual only incidentally, or in passing, something it wouldn’t bother him – or them – to lose. But… he bit his lip and sucked in a soft breath. “I have to tell him about Daichi.”

He could feel TK’s amusement like warmth spreading through his chest. “He’s going to be so hurt when I tell him how long it took you to remember him.”

Iwaizumi frowned. “That’s what he gets for dropping off the face of the earth. I haven’t even heard from him since his packmaster died and he and Sugs struck out on their own.” TK hummed, conceding, and Iwaizumi looked up at him. “Have you?”

“Not even rumors. If they’re still in the South, they’re way off the grid. At this point, you could probably leave him off the list.”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “He’ll be back. He always comes back. And I can’t leave him off the list, he’s-”

“Important?” TK teased.

Iwaizumi frowned. “He’s practically my brother.”

TK made an exaggerated gagging noise. “God, I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

“What?”

“That he’s your brother. The two of you are already basically self-cesty, you don’t have to make it incesty, too.”

Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose. “He feels like home.”

TK laughed. “Yeah, and you’re not supposed to put your dick in ‘home.’”

Iwaizumi grinned. “Who says I’m the one putting my-”

“Room service!” Bo called in as he kicked open the bathroom door.

Iwaizumi sat up a little straighter, pushing aside the heaps of bubbles and ignoring TK’s quizzical stare. “What’d you make?” he asked, holding his arms out, but Bo shooed him away, resting the big breakfast tray he was carrying across the middle of the bathtub, so the legs of it hung over either side. The tray was covered in a platter piled high with breakfast meats and a serving bowl full of scrambled eggs, plus a few conciliatory pieces of toast for TK and three big, personalized mugs of coffee. Iwaizumi tugged a slice of ham out of the pile and bit into it, not bothering with cutlery.

“So, what are we talking about?” Bo asked, shucking his gym shorts and underwear before stepping delicately into the tub across from them, careful not to bump the breakfast tray.

“Hajime was just telling me that-”

Iwaizumi pushed a piece of toast into TK’s mouth. Bo raised his eyebrows, and Iwaizumi said, “I’m starved. Thanks for making breakfast.”

Bo waved it off. “Eat up,” he said, nudging Iwaizumi’s leg with his foot. “You’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

***

The tray of food had looked like more than enough for three people, but other than the coffee and a few slices of bacon and toast, he’d eaten all of it himself, which meant he’d probably been more hurt than he realized. His legs were steady underneath him when he got out of the bath, though, and the gashes on his chest were at least closed, if not remotely healed. TK insisted that Iwaizumi take a shower before he left – supposedly so he wouldn’t smell like flowery bath oils all day, but more likely to make sure he washed away the lingering musk of his and Bo’s marks on his skin. He made quick work of it, though, the thick steam making him jittery and anxious to move.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he got his first good look at the bedroom. The mattress was destroyed, deep gashes ripped all over the surface, the sheets shredded, and everything streaked and smeared with blood. There were feathers everywhere, at least a pillow or two reduced to a layer of downy snow. He’d have to find a way to make it up to them later.

His work clothes were folded neatly on the dresser with his keys and the arrowhead necklace on top of them, but his phone was nowhere to be found. He dressed, pocketed his keys and the necklace, and wandered out into the living room, peeking around until he found Bo and TK lounging in a pile of pillows. “Hey. Uh, I was going to call myself a cab, or a shuttle or something, but I can’t find my phone.”

“By the door,” TK said.

“But don’t bother,” Bo finished, looking up from the magazine he was reading and tossing Iwaizumi the keys to his Jeep. Iwaizumi caught the keys and blinked at them. “Now you have to come back.”

“Or we’ll have to drive out there and take back what’s ours,” TK said, only half hiding his smile behind his coffee mug.

Neither of them made any move to get up. They weren’t going to say goodbye, because they weren’t going to let this be goodbye. He closed his hand on the keys and nodded. “Alright. I’ll see you soon. And, uh, sorry about the bed.”

TK hummed, and Bo said, “Don’t forget to fill up the tank on the way back,” and that was it. He left, locking the door behind him.


	3. Blood Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iwaizumi makes his way back to Baton Rouge to set things right, but a problem with Oikawa's pack cuts their reunion short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween, lovelies!
> 
> (inb4 yes, I do realize that this chapter more than doubles the length of the fic. You're welcome)

 

The miles passed in a blur. Not a haze, this time - nothing magical or sinister - just the monotonous turn of wheels on pavement and the slow churn of thoughts and worry in his mind. It was three hours before he realized he had no idea what the address of the motel was, or even what off-ramp or mile-marker he was supposed to be looking for. He was just driving east. He stopped for gas in Henderson (apparently he really had left the Jeep with barely a quarter tank the last time he’d borrowed it), and while he was waiting at the pump, his eyes wandered to the church across the street. The building was a little dilapidated, the streetside lawn overgrown, but in the waning evening light, it caught his eye. He’d never been particularly religious, but… Hell, it couldn’t hurt. He finished putting gas in the car, then jogged across the street.

***

He turned off the highway and onto the long drive leading up to the motel automatically, like it was the street he’d grown up on and the tired looking building was his childhood home, like it was muscle memory instead of a place he’d driven to only once before. When he pulled up in front of the motel, the lot was empty and all the lights were off. He parked in the spot where he’d found the blue pickup truck what felt like a lifetime ago, but he couldn’t quite make himself get out of the car. He’d borrowed one of TK’s fitted black button ups in lieu of wearing his work shirt, but now it felt stuffy and date-like, like he was conspicuously overdressed. He tugged at the hem of the shirt, smoothing it down his chest and trying to ignore the ridges of fresh scar tissue he could feel through the material. Then he tipped the rearview mirror. Checked his teeth. Fussed with his hair. Sighed and slumped forward, resting his forehead on the steering wheel. This was so stupid.

He’d had hours – days, really – to think about it, but he still had no idea what he was going to say to Oikawa.

He could feel him, now – inside, asleep but still angry, affronted, like a cat whose tail he’d stepped on. Nothing good could come of this, but it was too late to leave, and there was nowhere else for him to go. When the sun set, he felt it as clear and resonant as moonrise, like lips had touched his own and breathed life into his lungs. He felt Oikawa’s eyes blink open. Felt him reach. Iwaizumi pushed open the door and climbed out of the car before Oikawa had a chance to pull, his feet leading him into the motel and down the hall to Oikawa’s door.

He reached for the doorknob and stopped. It wasn’t his door to open. He could feel Oikawa stirring, slow to wake, sloughing off the weight of sleep like swimming to the surface of that calm, deep pool. He felt him stumble, gracelessly, as he got out of bed, foot caught in the tangle of his sheets, and he couldn’t help but smile, laying his palm flat on the door and resting his forehead against the dark wood. He had no idea who Oikawa Tooru really was, but as he wandered around his bedroom, pretending like he didn’t know Iwaizumi was there, he couldn’t even manage to be irritated about it – he just wanted the chance to find out, to see the petulant pout he could almost feel on his own lips.

He rapped his knuckles lightly on the door.

He could feel Oikawa considering his options, weighing the desire to make him sweat against the nagging fear that Iwaizumi might actually leave again. He knocked again, and this time, Oikawa called out, sweetly, “ _Who is it_?”

Iwaizumi sighed. Fine. He could play along. “It’s Hajime.”

“ _Hajime_ ?” he said, intentionally butchering the pronunciation. “ _I don’t think I know anyone named Hajime_ ,” he said, butchering it in an entirely different way.

Iwaizumi grit his teeth, breathed out through his nose, splayed his palm out on the door again. “If you let me in, it might jog your memory.”

“ _Oh,_ my _memory’s just_ fine _._ I’m _not the one who_ forgot to call.”

Iwaizumi let his forehead thunk against the door. “I’m sorry I didn’t call.”

“ _It’s not that hard, you know_ ,” Oikawa said, ignoring him. “ _In fact, your_ friend _managed to do it just fine. Or maybe you really don’t know how to use a phone? You were having_ so _much trouble with it the night we met, after all_.”

He sighed. “I just want to talk.”

“ _You know there’s this really amazing invention that was designed for the express purpose of making it easier for two people to talk to each other, but I can’t remember - what was it called? Oh right, a_ fucking telephone.” He was pacing restlessly back and forth across the room, radiating cold fury that chilled the door against Iwaizumi’s skin.

“If you want, I’ll go back out to my car and call you,” he said. Oikawa stopped pacing. “I’m not – that’s not a threat. I’m not going to leave, I just want to talk to you, but if you don’t want me here-”

“ _You should have called_.”

“Yeah, I should have.”

“ _But you didn’t_.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“ _Why_?”

He rubbed the tips of his fingers against the door, tracing the carved pattern of the wood. “Because you’re the only thing in the entire world that I can’t run away from, and that scares the shit out of me.”

“ _You sure as hell tried_ ,” Oikawa snapped.

“Yeah,” he said. “I did.” He swallowed. “You were right when you said I don’t take well to a leash, and after… I felt chained. So I ran. It made it worse, for both of us.”

Oikawa took a step toward the door. Paused. Asked, quietly, “ _What happened to your neck_?”

“What?”

“ _Every time you came to me in my dreams, you had this awful bruise on your throat, like… rope, or…_ ” He took another step closer. “ _And this morning it was just… shredded, like something had clawed through it_.”

Iwaizumi pressed a hand to his neck. His skin was unbroken, unmarked, but he could feel the ghost of what Oikawa was describing just beneath the surface, like an afterimage. “I really-” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “I really wasn’t made to be collared.”

“ _But you came back_.”

“Because I’m yours, Tooru. Whatever that ends up meaning.” He leaned his weight on the door, closed his eyes. When Oikawa didn’t say anything, didn’t move, Iwaizumi said, “Come here. Please. You don’t even have to open the door, just. Come closer, please.”

Wordlessly, he did. Closed the scant distance, pressed his hand to the door, leaned his forehead against it, mirroring Iwaizumi perfectly, so that only a few inches of wood separated them. And when he did, Iwaizumi was glad for the door, because his wolf surged out of him, and Oikawa flowed into him, and the sheer relief of it was enough to make his knees buckle. It was too much, too much information to parse, too much sensation to sort through, but above and beyond it all he felt whole again, like the gaping, oozing wound in his chest had finally healed.

Minutes passed in silent communion, wordless apologies and reassurances flowing between them – all the things that still needed to be said aloud, things that would turn ugly, probably, when they were, but like this they were a balm. Eventually, Oikawa said, “ _I’m still mad at you_.”

“I’m not super happy with you right now, either,” Iwaizumi said. He could feel the instinctive protest, the flare of offense, and before Oikawa could object, Iwaizumi said, “Can we start over?”

It took the wind out of his sails. “ _What_?”

“Look, I just.” He took a slow breath. “Give me a chance to do what I should have done days ago.”

“ _You mean, call me_?”

Iwaizumi sputtered out a laugh. “Oh my god, seriously?”

“ _It’s not funny_!” But the flare of Oikawa’s indignation just made him laugh harder.

“You really aren’t going to let it go, are you?” he said, trying and failing to stifle his laughter.

“ _No, I’m not, because you should have_ \- _!_ ” Oikawa threw the lock on his door and pulled it open, then froze. He wasn’t the ruined mess of skinny limbs and misery Iwaizumi had seen in his dreams. He was a vision of haughty disdain and righteous indignation with really great bedhead, the weariness underneath only showing through around his eyes. Iwaizumi held out the bouquet of orange and black-spotted lilies he’d picked from the church garden. Oikawa’s jaw dropped.

“I didn’t have time to pick up a movie, but I read about this little theater in Baton Rouge that does midn-” Oikawa grabbed the flowers with one hand and Iwaizumi with the other, dragging him into his bedroom. He slammed the door shut and pushed Iwaizumi up against it, kissing him like he’d been gone for a hundred years rather than a handful of days.

Affection and want and belonging blazed through him, a feeling of connectedness he’d orbited and piggybacked on but never felt for himself, not really, and he clung to Oikawa desperately, pulling him close and kissing him hard. Oikawa hiked him up, lifting him off his feet with one hand, and Iwaizumi didn’t hesitate to wrap his legs around Oikawa’s waist as he drove him back against the door. He was tragically overdressed; Oikawa wasn’t wearing anything but a sheet, tied around his waist like a towel and fanned out on the floor behind him like a train.

Oikawa’s mouth started to wander, smearing hot kisses across Iwaizumi’s cheek and jaw, forcing his head back and then lingering, slow and wet on the pulse point in his neck. Iwaizumi reached up to thread his hands in Oikawa’s hair, not quite managing to pull him away even though he knew he needed to. “We’re supposed to be talking,” he gasped.

“I think we get along better when our mouths are otherwise occupied,” Oikawa whispered, lips and fangs moving like a promise against his skin.

Iwaizumi tightened his fingers in Oikawa’s hair, drawing his head back just an inch. “That’s why we need to talk.” It was hard to think, to focus. He wanted to dive into Oikawa and never come out, to merge with him until they were wearing one set of skin and never had to worry about misunderstanding each other again. But they would have to come up for air eventually, and he didn’t want – “Stop, Tooru.”

The command made Oikawa go perfectly still against him, like a flawless marble statue with stone fingers still gripping his thigh. “I’m hungry,” he said, voice airy and raw, almost pleading, and Iwaizumi felt it like a tuning fork struck against his bones, the overwhelming _need_ of it vibrating through him. Had he not fed since that night? He let his head loll back, baring his neck.

But Oikawa didn’t strike. He leaned to one side, setting the bouquet of flowers on a table by the door, then started undoing the buttons on Iwaizumi’s shirt. “What…?” he asked, dazed.

“You don’t want me to mark your neck,” Oikawa said, laying a gentle kiss to Iwaizumi’s pulse point as he pushed the shirt down over his shoulders and off.

Right. He _didn’t_ want that, but Oikawa needed… He lifted his arm over his head, offering up his marked bicep, but Oikawa didn’t take that, either. Was something wrong, had he…? He blinked open and caught Oikawa staring, his expression written with horror. But what…? He followed his gaze down and, oh. The ragged claw marks on his chest were peeking out from the neck of his shirt. He started to tug on the fabric, pulling it up to cover them, but Oikawa stopped his hand.

“Who did this to you?”

Iwaizumi curled his hand in the front of his shirt. Dropped his gaze. “You did.”

“What?”

Iwaizumi shook his head, wiggling out of Oikawa’s grasp and pushing him back a step so he could stand on his own. He peeled his undershirt up over his head and off, letting it drop to the floor. He’d tried not to look at the marks, but Oikawa’s expression showed how bad they were. “I know I hurt you,” Iwaizumi said. “I left you alone, and scared, and confused, and I’m sorry. I was scared, too, and the more you tried to pull me back, the harder I tried to run, and…” He touched a fingertip to the edge of one of the gashes. “We need to talk about this, because you were trying so hard to bring me back to you that you almost killed me today. I know you’re pissed that I wasn’t alone, but if I had been I would have suffocated or ripped out my own heart trying to get free.”

Silence. Then, “Who are they?”

Iwaizumi sighed. “They’re the people that I went to when I was scared and lost and needed someone I trusted to help me put things in perspective.”

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Don’t,” Iwaizumi said, wolf rising in his voice, anger straining against a fragile chain. “Don’t you dare.”

“What, I’m not _allowed_ to be _upset_ that you didn’t _bother_ to tell me you have a _boyfr_ -”

The chain snapped, and his vision went red. The next thing he knew, he had Oikawa by the throat, pinned to the door, a low growl vibrating in his chest. “Don’t needle me about something you don’t understand, Oikawa.” His teeth had gone sharp in his mouth, and his breathing was ragged.

“Put me down,” Oikawa said, cold, hard.

It took him a second to obey, and when he did, he wasn’t gentle about it. He tossed Oikawa to the floor and backed up, squaring his shoulders and prickling, ready for a fight. “You and I are two strangers who hooked up in a seedy motel bar,” he bit out as Oikawa propped himself up on one elbow, rubbing gingerly at his throat. “You don’t _get_ to be upset that I sleep with other people, or that I have a life that doesn’t revolve around you. And you don’t get to pretend you’ve never put more than teeth in someone you’ve fed on.”

“That’s different,” Oikawa said coolly, the cattiness and jealousy replaced with ice. Somehow, he managed to look threatening even sprawled out on the carpet. “That’s _food_.”

Iwaizumi grit his teeth. This wasn’t helping. He took a few deep breaths, forcing calm on himself. “That’s what you don’t understand, Tooru. It’s… _sustenance_ for me, too.”

“You don’t feed on sex,” Oikawa snapped.

“No,” he bit back, “but wolves are pack animals and I haven’t had a pack since I was ten.”

Oikawa blinked. “I thought that was your choice.”

“Well, it wasn’t.”

“Why, then?”

“Because a ten year old can’t lead a pack, but a pack won’t follow someone that keeps losing to a damn kid.”

Oikawa shook his head. “What are you saying?”

“I’ve never lost a fight with another wolf,” Iwaizumi said. “As part of my formal initiation into my first pack, they tried to rank me, and not one of them could. I had to leave the next day because I completely trashed their hierarchy. When I was _ten_ .” He shook his head. “There are maybe a dozen shapeshifters from Richmond to Albuquerque that can touch me for more than a handshake without feeling physical pain. Most of them are pair bonded pack leaders, because it literally takes two people to handle me, and I sleep with most of them on a fairly regular basis because they’re my friends, and I care about them, and because the lone wolf thing fucking sucks and I didn’t choose it, and what I have with them makes up for what I can’t have for keeps.” He sucked in a shaky breath. “I don’t know what this is yet,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them, “or what you want it to be, but I’m… We’re in it together, so we have to find a way to make it work. If you want to talk exclusivity, we can, but it’s… It has to be a _talk_. You can’t just demand that from me without knowing what you’re asking. It would be like me saying you can only ever feed on me again, but that I might not always be here when you’re hungry, and I might not always be able to let you drink your fill. You’d be asking me to sacrifice something huge, that no one person could make up for by themselves.”

Oikawa was quiet for a long moment, perfectly still, reclined on the floor and tangled up in his sheet, the picture of an odalisque. “I still don’t even know what _this_ is,” he said, mimicking Iwaizumi’s gesture between them.

“It’s… You’re.” He looked at his feet. Huffed. “We’re pair bonded.”

Oikawa’s eyebrows rose, eyes widening minutely. “Isn’t that, like, shapeshifter soulmates?”

Iwaizumi’s lip curled in distaste. “It’s… something like that.” He frowned. “The human idea of soulmates is all about finding your one true love. For us, it’s more than that. We’re two halves of a whole. Inseparable.”

“So we’re… werewolf married?” Oikawa said cautiously.

“No!” Iwaizumi barked, temper flaring again. He huffed out hard through his nose, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Sort of,” he conceded. “But there’s no divorce, and it doesn’t have to mean love, or romance.” Something changed in the air between them, making his chest feel tight, and he amended, “It _can_ , but it doesn’t, inherently. For some people it’s like marriage, for some people it’s just a partnership, or-”

“Hajime.” He flicked his eyes up to Oikawa’s face. “What do you want this to be?”

He gave a small shake of his head. “I don’t know.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t even know you, Tooru. And you, this?” He gestured with one hand, the room, the hotel, the whole goddamn state and its bloodsucking politics. “Is everything I’ve spent my whole life running from.” He hugged his arm back across his chest, dropping his gaze. “I don’t… date. I don’t even know how to be in one place, with one person, in a serious relationship, or…” He shook his head. Closed his eyes. Sighed. “I want to make you happy.”

“The flowers were a good start.” Iwaizumi breathed out a laugh, and Oikawa said, this time teasingly, “And I would be overjoyed if you started calling me when you say you’re going to.”

“You know, you have a phone, too,” Iwaizumi said, but there was no fight left in it.

“And I probably should have called you, but god forbid I come off as needy.” Iwaizumi laughed again, harder, and Oikawa held out a hand. He looked so terribly princely doing it, despite the tangled pile of sheets in his lap, that Iwaizumi bent down and pressed a kiss to the back of his hand before lifting him to his feet. Oikawa looked stunned, the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks, and he barely caught the sheet as it started to slip down off his hips.

Iwaizumi brushed his thumb along Oikawa’s cheek, following the line of his cheekbone, marveling at his blush, at the soft, surprised part of his lips. He leaned in close, but stopped just short, looking up into Oikawa’s eyes for permission before kissing him, once, softly, like the precious, fragile thing he didn’t know he was. Oikawa gasped, and Iwaizumi smiled, closing his eyes and tipping his head to the other side, kissing him again, tenderly, then murmuring against his mouth, “That theater in the city plays classic monster movies every Friday night at midnight. If you want, we could-”

“I’d love to.”

Iwaizumi grinned, cupping Oikawa’s jaw and kissing him again, his voice a low rumble when he asked, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa answered, breathlessly, snaking his arms around Iwaizumi’s neck and letting the sheet drop to the floor as he kissed him again, harder. Iwaizumi groaned appreciatively, running his hands down along Oikawa’s back and pulling him close. With only one set of sharp teeth to navigate and without the flare of bloodlust between them, Oikawa was an even more skillful kisser, drawing him in with soft, teasing little touches of tongue and gentle bites that betrayed the smile on his lips.

Iwaizumi gripped Oikawa’s ass, lifting him up off his feet, and Oikawa coiled his legs around his waist and tangled his fingers in Iwaizumi’s hair, making a low, hungry noise and clinging to him greedily. Iwaizumi hugged him to his chest, supporting him with one arm hooked beneath his thighs, but pulled back from the kiss, breathing hard. “Is all the furniture in here as uncomfortable as it looks?”

“That isn’t,” Oikawa said, pointing back at the couch he slept on before pulling him back into another kiss.

Iwaizumi nodded and shuffled backwards toward the couch. His foot caught on the abandoned sheet and he kicked it out of the way, stumbling a half step and sitting down on the narrow sofa a little harder than he meant to. Oikawa broke away from him and laughed, bright and happy, then pushed him against the back of the couch and leaned down over him, kissing him again like he couldn’t stand to stop, settling into Iwaizumi’s lap.

Iwaizumi gripped Oikawa’s hips, intending just to hold him, to anchor himself, but he couldn’t keep his hands from wandering, up over the lean curve of his waist to his muscular back and broad shoulders and back down, squeezing and kneading until his palms came to rest on the muscular curve of Oikawa’s ass. His skin was just barely cool to the touch, more noticeable as his own body flared hotter beneath his attention. “You’re so cold,” he said dizzily when Oikawa drew away from him, hands working at the belt on his jeans.

“Corpse-like?” Oikawa said, teasing, but with an underlying hint of challenge – daring him to complain about it.

Iwaizumi shook his head, because, no, that wasn’t… “Like you got caught in a storm,” he said, then moaned, a tactile flash of being kissed in hard, driving rain, surrounded by tall trees and the smell of earth, ice cold sheets of water and the rumble of thunder in the sky. A shaky smile tugged at his lips, his eyes too heavy to open. “I want to warm you up.”

“There’s only one way to do that,” Oikawa said, soft and sad, without any hint of tease or seduction. Iwaizumi blinked up at him, brow creased, a moment slow to follow what he was saying. When it made sense, he reached behind his head to grip the back of the couch, baring his arm in offering. But Oikawa gripped his bicep, covering the bite marks with his palm and shaking his head. “You really are like a drug, Hajime. I don’t want…”

Vague impressions of what Oikawa didn’t want swirled through his mind, underscoring what he did: a clear head. To remember this. Iwaizumi nodded. “Okay. Can we still…?”

Oikawa nodded, leaning into him to kiss him again and guiding Iwaizumi’s hand off the couch and back to his ass. “Vampire Physiology 101: body temperature and blood flow may not be as expected, boners a hundred percent optional.”

Iwaizumi huffed out a laugh against his lips. “Okay. I’ll try not to take it personally.” He lifted his hips off the couch as Oikawa got to his knees and tugged his pants and underwear down, then held him steady as he kicked off his shoes and pushed them the rest of the way off. “Lube?”

“Under the couch,” he said, gesturing vaguely.

Iwaizumi hiked him closer in his lap, then bent forward, dipping Oikawa backwards so he could rummage around under the couch with one hand. Oikawa let out a startled yelp, gripping Iwaizumi’s head, but Iwaizumi just pressed a kiss to the flat of his stomach, murmuring against his skin, “I’ve got you.”

“You’re gonna get kicked in the face if you’re not c-oh!” Iwaizumi pulled him back upright in a rush, grinning at his peeved expression and holding up the bottle of lube. Oikawa huffed, trying to pluck the bottle from his hands, but Iwaizumi didn’t let it go.

“Let me?” Oikawa hesitated a moment, weighing him, then let go of the bottle. Iwaizumi smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to Oikawa’s chin. He spread his legs apart, making Oikawa’s knees slide along the satiny fabric of the couch cushions, forcing him to straddle his lap rather than kneel over him. Then he wrapped his arms loosely around Oikawa’s waist, uncapped the bottle behind his back, and started slicking up his fingers.

He rubbed his cheek against Oikawa’s bare chest as he started to spread him open, cool skin making his face feel feverish by contrast. It was strange and wonderful, knowing instinctively how to touch, how to make Oikawa’s breath hitch, how to make him sigh and relax, what he wanted and what he needed, the new yet familiar way his body moved as Iwaizumi worked him open, just subtly but fluid and graceful as a dancer, all hips and muscle, the way the only thing he had to say was, “God, you’re perfect,” hot against Oikawa’s skin, and only then because he couldn’t help it, even though he knew Oikawa could feel the truth of it in him.

Oikawa gripped the base of Iwaizumi’s cock, stroking him and then slicking him up, and almost as soon as Iwaizumi slid his fingers out of him, Oikawa started working the tip of him inside, slow at first and then with a sharp thrust, taking the rest of him in all at once. Iwaizumi bit out a harsh moan and Oikawa arched, bracing hands on Iwaizumi’s chest and tipping his head back, lips parted to show the full length of his fangs, eyes half-hidden behind his long lashes. He was beautiful, perfect, and all Iwaizumi could do was hold on as he started to move, small smooth circles of his hips that demanded an answer from his hands, his body, demanded the praise tumbling senselessly from his lips against Oikawa’s skin, breathless and helpless.

Cold as he was, hungry as he was, when Iwaizumi gripped his hair and dragged him down into a kiss, Oikawa flared to life, an ember burning bright in the core of him, fueled by the wolf inching under his skin. It wasn’t a cheap mimicry of life - it was something achingly human, soft needy sounds on hot uneven breath, skin slick with sweat, body trembling with want and pleasure, even as it got harder to keep straight who was kissing who, who was leading and who was holding on.

When Iwaizumi tightened his arms around Oikawa’s waist and put him on his back on the couch beneath him, it was hard to tell whose idea it was, or if the want had come from both of them, an accord reached instantly and silently. He guided Oikawa’s legs around his hips, then slipped his arms underneath Oikawa’s, gripping his shoulders to brace him as he drove into him harder, slow, rough, controlled thrusts that made every inch of him rumble, gravely and hot, and made Oikawa moan, unbridled and beautiful and perfect, everything about him perfect. And they were close, so close, so deeply entwined that every movement was just the right one, that sometimes between long blinks they were looking into their own eyes from the other’s body. When they came, they came together, fingers dug into flesh, lips pressed to parted lips breathing shared air, letting out the same ragged sound of release.

Iwaizumi collapsed into Oikawa’s arms, heavy on top of him, but the feeling of connectedness was slow to recede, lingering in a blur of soft, sleepy kisses and wandering hands, exploring and reassuring and maintaining contact, even as they bled slowly back into their own minds.

“Not just my blood, then,” Oikawa said eventually, fingers curled in the hair at the base of Iwaizumi’s neck.

Iwaizumi hid his smile against Oikawa’s skin. “No,” he said, smoothing his hands along Oikawa’s thighs, working slow kisses against his chest, “not just your blood.”

“So this is…”

“For keeps,” he said, then sobered a little, tipping his head up to look at Oikawa’s face. “If you want it to be.”

“What if I didn’t?” Oikawa asked.

Even as a hypothetical, it made something miserable curl in Iwaizumi’s stomach. He turned his face into Oikawa’s neck. “You’d have a very, very loyal guard dog for as long as I live.”

“And if I say I do? What would you be to me then?”

He was quiet for a moment, turning it over in his head. “A lover. A friend? A… partner? Whatever I can be, however we fit. I don’t know what that is yet, but… I’d like to find out, if you do, too.”

“I do,” Oikawa said, drawing Iwaizumi’s head back to force him to look up at him. “I’d be a fool not to.”

“You mean that?”

“I do,” he said again, cupping the back of his head and drawing him into a kiss, slow and soft. Warm steam unfurled where their lips touched, filling Iwaizumi’s lungs, a salve on the part of him that was as afraid that Oikawa would send him away now as he had been that he wouldn’t let him leave. He shifted against him, curling hands in Oikawa’s hair, clinging just a little as he kissed him back. Oikawa pulled away first, just enough to murmur against his lips, “You still have to take me to the movies.”

Iwaizumi laughed. “I can do that.”

“And I mean it about the phone thing.”

“I know you do,” Iwaizumi said, kissing and nuzzling up under his jaw. “I’ll do better.”

“It would be hard to do worse,” Oikawa said, but with a laugh in his voice. Iwaizumi nipped at Oikawa’s throat, the ghost of a reprimand, then latched onto his skin, sucking softly. Oikawa moaned, but followed it with a quiet sound of protest, pushing halfheartedly at Iwaizumi’s shoulder, “I should go wash off, I’m filthy.”

When he made a move to wiggle out from under him, though, Iwaizumi caught Oikawa by the hip, holding him in place. “I can help with that,” Iwaizumi said, and before Oikawa could question it, he slid back down between his legs, only to stop above Oikawa’s stomach with a curious tilt to his head. “It’s pink,” he observed, touching a fingertip to the sticky streaks of come smeared on Oikawa’s stomach.

“Yes, thank you for that penetrating glimpse into the obv-”

Iwaizumi licked. Oikawa gasped in surprise and grabbed at his hair. Iwaizumi hummed thoughtfully, lapping carefully at his skin. “Smells like copper,” he said, licking lower, sucking at his skin. “But it doesn’t taste like blood.”

“What are you-?” Oikawa cut off with a startled moan as Iwaizumi drew Oikawa’s still-soft cock into his mouth. Iwaizumi made another thoughtful sound, teasing with his tongue, exploring the shape of it. It twitched against his tongue, but didn’t start to swell. _Fascinating_ . “Stop doing science to m—nn- _Hajime_.”

That was a very, very good sound. He drew back just enough to murmur, “Could I get you off like this?”

“Yeah, probably, but why would you want-” Oh, he wanted to. He took Oikawa in his mouth again, rumbling with contentment as he started working out how to move. He could fit _all_ of him in his mouth like this, and maybe… he dipped down, licking a stripe between Oikawa’s balls, and Oikawa gasped and arched beneath him. When he started to draw back to make sure this was okay, Oikawa grabbed his hair and pushed him back down. He hummed, amused and pleased, and guided Oikawa’s legs up onto his shoulders, leaving one hand anchored on his hip and sliding the other between Oikawa’s legs, rubbing circles against the sensitive skin behind his balls and taking one of them into his mouth, then swallowing. He’d need to practice to be able to get both of them, but the strangled little whimper Oikawa made was enough to make him sure it would be worth the effort. He sucked slowly, inching his fingertips forward until he could slide them back into Oikawa, who was still hot and slick inside with come. It made Oikawa dig his heels into his shoulders, twisting underneath him. He felt his wolf swelling inside him, so possessive and pleased that he rumbled with it, because Oikawa was _his_ , he had claimed him, marked him. Oikawa gasped out, “Pervert,” and Iwaizumi rumbled and curled his fingers, stroking Oikawa’s prostate, keeping slow time with the pull of his mouth until Oikawa’s moans turned to soft, short gasps, body drawn bowstring tight beneath him, and he came apart, spilling into Iwaizumi’s mouth with a muffled shout.

He waited until Oikawa was limp and boneless beneath him, until the twitches and shivers of his orgasm died down, before drawing back, licking him clean and sliding his hand free. He settled back on top of him, heavy and content, and Oikawa curled arms around his head, cradling him to his chest and panting down into his hair. With his eyes closed and his ear pressed to his skin, Iwaizumi heard Oikawa’s heart beat, once. It made him still, almost afraid to breathe as he listened for it. It beat again, once. He could almost feel the blood moving winter-slow through Oikawa’s veins. When it beat a third time, he turned and laid a kiss to Oikawa’s chest, above his heart, just to the side of the slowly-closing scar. “Your heart beats so slow,” he murmured.

“Does it bother you?” Oikawa asked, gently scratching his nails along Iwaizumi’s scalp.

He gave a small shake of his head. “It’s just strange.” His lips curled into a small smile against Oikawa’s skin. “Unexpected, given the circumstances.”

“You know, I’m usually better fed when I hop in bed with someone,” he said, propping himself up on one elbow. “Or better fed _by_ the person I’m in bed with.”

“I _did_ offer.”

Oikawa hummed, conceding. “Is the offer still open?”

“If you want it to be,” he said, stroking fingertips lightly along Oikawa’s side. “But if you don’t like what my blood does to you, I-”

“It’s not that,” Oikawa said. “I just… I wanted to know how much of what I felt that first night was your blood, and how much of it was just you.”

“And?”

“And now I know.” Iwaizumi cocked an eyebrow, leveling him with an unimpressed gaze, and Oikawa amended, “And I’m asking. Will you let me feed on you?”

Iwaizumi nodded. “How do you want to…?”

“Sit back,” he said, giving him a little nudge. “Against the sofa will be more comfortable.”

It took a little maneuvering, but Iwaizumi ended up laid out on his back on the sofa with Oikawa perched carefully in his lap. He held his arm out, offering Oikawa the same marked spot, but as he bent down over it, he hesitated.

“Is this…” Oikawa paused, pursing his lips. “Is this where you want me to mark you?”

Iwaizumi stiffened. “You mean permanently? Like a blood bond?”

“No,” Oikawa said quickly, “no, not. Not now, not until you’ve met everyone, and not until you tell me it’s something you want. But if… if me feeding on you becomes a regular thing, wherever I bite you won’t have time to fully heal, so…”

Iwaizumi frowned, remembering the mark on the inside of TK’s bicep that mirrored his own. “Do marks on different places mean different things?”

“Only implicitly. The Bishop marks his wolves on the neck, because you can’t pretend to be anything but a vampire’s lackey with a permanent set of teeth marks on your throat. A mark on the thigh obviously implies intimacy and is the easiest to keep hidden, but it’s also where a lot of vampires will mark a human plaything. Wrists are convenient but hard to hide, knees or elbows are…” he wrinkled his nose. “If there’s a mark there, it’s usually not the only one someone is wearing.”

“A junkie.”

Oikawa shrugged. “A human who belongs to a nest.”

“And this?” he asked, gesturing to the inside of his bicep.

“Easy to hide, but easy to access and easy to show if you need to. A vampire’s agent rather than a servant.”

“And if you had your choice?”

“I can’t promise I won’t try to bite your thigh again,” Oikawa admitted. “So if you’d rather only have one set of marks on you, it should probably be there.”

“And if I didn’t care how many there were, or where?”

“If you really didn’t care, I would already have my fangs in your throat.”

Iwaizumi’s heart fluttered. “To claim me?”

“To taste you,” Oikawa said, gaze settling on the pulse in Iwaizumi’s throat. “Blood is always sweetest when it’s spilled from the neck.”

“Not today,” he said, threading his fingers in Oikawa’s hair. “But when I can stay here for a while and not have to hide it from anyone…”

A trembling shudder ran through Oikawa’s body. “Fuck. Fuck, Hajime, I want to mark up every inch of you.” A small smile tugged at Iwaizumi’s lips. He held up his unmarked bicep and Oikawa moaned, moving snake-fast to bite the same spot as he had on the other arm, fangs despoiling his flesh as they opened his vein.

It was different, knowing what to expect, and Iwaizumi let himself revel in it, eyes closed and head laid back, arm wrapped snugly around Oikawa’s broad shoulders. Let it transport him, scalding water and velvet steam and slick skin and the taste of blood and hot spring sulfur on his tongue. Let himself flow into Oikawa, making his heart beat human-fast and then faster as his body came to life, warm and willing. Without his wolf stirring just below the surface, it was all promise and no threat, the electric pull of Oikawa’s mouth shooting straight to his groin rather than rousing his beast. He gripped Oikawa’s hip, pulling him flush against him, but he was too far gone to do anything more purposeful than rut up against him.

Oikawa’s bite really was like a drug, waking up every inch of Iwaizumi’s skin and making him hyper-aware of every touch, the points where Oikawa’s thighs brushed his, the trails of sparks Oikawa’s fingertips left behind as they wandered, mapping the muscles of his arms, tracing each of his ribs, splaying through the dark hair on his chest. With his eyes closed, it blurred – impressions of silk on his skin and the faint smell of earth, the whisper of lips that weren’t really touching his and hot-cold ghosts like raindrops trickling over him.

Iwaizumi felt it when Oikawa had his fill, first as an echo – dizzy and sated and with all the relief of a scratched itch – then tasted it, his own blood on Oikawa’s lips, real and solid this time, a sharp tang as Oikawa kissed him, settling on top of him and hiking his legs around his hips, touching and moving until the edges started to blur again, hands tangled in hair, bodies intertwined. Iwaizumi broke away, breathing hard, but Oikawa didn’t have to, trailing kisses down and leaving gentle, pinprick bites on his neck, enough to dent skin but not break it, like a promise.

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi breathed.   

Oikawa smiled, grazing teeth along Iwaizumi’s collarbone. His cinnamon eyes were dilated and a little unfocused, his blood-tinted lips just a little bit parted. He _was_ feeling it, then – Iwaizumi’s blood as potent as Oikawa’s bite, in its own way. And that was why Oikawa had refused it at first, and rightly so; drunk as they were on each other, Iwaizumi was having trouble remembering why he didn’t want Oikawa to bite his neck. No matter what happened, they were in this together, right? A distant voice reminded him they still had a lot to talk about, that he still had a life outside this room, but the rest of him ignored it, tipping his head back and baring his throat.

Oikawa moaned, sliding up to kiss almost chastely at Iwaizumi’s pulse, tasting his heartbeat through his skin. Iwaizumi reached up and tangled his hand in Oikawa’s hair, breathing his name again like a nonsense word or an invitation. But Oikawa’s lips had hardly parted before someone started pounding on the bedroom door.

They both went rigid, whipping toward the offending sound as one. There were two wolves outside – Iwaizumi could smell them and Oikawa knew. The lingering haze of Oikawa’s bite had left him sluggish, but on instinct he tried to put himself between Oikawa and the door, a low growl trickling out of him, ready to fight. From outside, someone called, “ _Tooru, open the fucking door!_ ”

Oikawa put a hand on Iwaizumi’s shoulder, steadying him. He swallowed down the last of the blood in his mouth, then called out sweetly, “I’m a bit busy at the moment, Makki.”

“ _Too busy to answer your phone for the last hour?_ ” a second voice snapped.

Oikawa went still and cold, his sudden woozy-sick feeling palpable enough to make Iwaizumi shiver. He looked a question at Oikawa, who gave a small shake of his head, gathering an abandoned sheet up off the floor and wrapping it around his waist before crossing to the front of the room. He cracked the door, blocking the opening with his body. Before he could say anything, the second voice started in on him. “Where the fuck have you b-” the voice stopped short, cutting off with a cough.

“I told you his new wolf was here,” the first voice said. Iwaizumi stiffened. Oikawa’s wolves knew about him? He shook off the thought. Of course they did; according to Kenma they were his friends, but from the tone it didn’t sound like they’d heard anything good about him.

“What happened?” Oikawa asked, squeezing the gap in the door a little farther shut. He waved a hand behind his back, motioning for Iwaizumi to move. He slid off the sofa and started looking for his pants.

“No shit he’s here, and _you’re_ high as balls.”

“What _happened_ ,” Oikawa said again, sharply. There was absolutely no room to pretend they’d been doing anything other than swapping fluids; the room reeked of sex, and Oikawa had answered the door with his mouth still stained crimson. But he was standing his ground, back straight and chin up defiantly, managing to sound cool and commanding despite the fact that he was completely naked except for a sheet that was probably at this point a little bit shy of pristine.

“Kyoutani slipped his collar some time before nightfall. We tracked him as far as Lake Comeaux, but Shigeru can’t pin him down and since _you_ were too busy getting laid to answer your phone, we had to waste time coming back here to get you.”

Iwaizumi prickled, but the anger was only half his own. He’d been with Oikawa since sunset and hadn’t heard a phone ring, and when he questioned it, he knew: Oikawa hadn’t gotten the call because he’d broken his phone that morning after TK had called it, and he hadn’t had time to replace it or let anyone know what had happened before Iwaizumi showed up at his doorstep. “Make sure both the campsites are clear and get everyone together at the boat launch,” Oikawa said. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“Just put on some pants and come with us. We need you, Tooru.”

“I need a minute, Matt,” he said, sounding suddenly weary. Before either of the wolves could object, Oikawa added, “Please.”

Someone breathed a heavy sigh, then the other voice – Makki? – asked, “Is he coming with you?”

“Hell of a time for an introduction,” the other voice muttered.

“Just get everyone to the boat launch,” Oikawa said, then shut the door without giving them a chance to object.

Oikawa locked the door and leaned heavily against it. When he didn’t make any move to explain what had just happened, Iwaizumi ventured, “So those were your wolves.”

“My first and second, before Kyoutani,” Oikawa said, eyes closed.

Iwaizumi frowned, hands stilling on the buttons on his shirt. “Kyoutani is your… mad dog,” he said. Oikawa gave a small nod. “And he got loose?”

“Apparently.” Oikawa said. He swallowed thickly, a slow bob of his adam’s apple. He looked a little woozy, like the interruption maybe hadn’t quite brought him out of whatever daze Iwaizumi’s blood had put him under.

Iwaizumi tried to suppress the little bubble of frustration welling up in him, though he knew Oikawa could probably feel it. He wanted to demand to know how this had been allowed to happen – a rabid wolf on the loose was dangerous to anyone and anything in its path, and off leash and out of his mind, it was just a matter of time before this one got himself caught, which put them all at risk of exposure. And this “mad dog” had been glutted on corpses for six months at least, to say nothing of whatever vampire he’d been rented out to before. If he had a human mind left, it wouldn’t come back to him easily. Killing rabid wolves was often as much a mercy as a punishment or precaution, but Kyoutani had been a _gift_ , and while Iwaizumi didn’t know the specifics of what that entailed, it was probably a safe bet that if the hunt for him ended in a kill, it would go badly for Oikawa. Eventually, Iwaizumi settled for asking, “How can I help?”

Oikawa shook his head. “I don’t know. Yahaba – his handler – has never had any trouble…handling him before. I’m not sure how this happened.”

“It’s possible he tried to wean him too fast,” Iwaizumi said. That made Oikawa look up at him, then away, guiltily. Iwaizumi started to interrogate him, but his mind found the answer in Oikawa’s head before his mouth could form the question, and his eyes went wide with shock. “You stopped _feeding_ him?”

Oikawa had the gall to look offended. “I don’t kill if I have the choice, and neither do my wolves. You should know that by now.”

“Tooru, that’s why he broke loose,” Iwaizumi snapped. Oikawa pursed his lips, turning away with his nose up haughtily. “If you don’t feed him, he’s going to hunt,” Iwaizumi pressed. “Unless you wean him off human flesh, he’s going to start killing to eat.” When he caught Oikawa’s look – somewhere between sick and weary – Iwaizumi sighed. “It's like a drug. If he stops feeding on people, he won’t be able to stay in his wolf form, and if he turns back while he’s still blood crazed, he might lose his mind completely.”

Oikawa stilled, his face settling into something placid and unreadable. After a moment, he asked, “What are my options?”

“You can’t kill him, so we’re going to have to find him, catch him, and hope we can bring him back if we do it right this time.”

“That’s a lot of ‘we’s,” Oikawa said, his voice carefully neutral.

Iwaizumi paused, weighing his words. “Well, it’s not quite the new moon, but you did promise to let me meet your pack.”

Oikawa’s lip twisted in distaste. “As soon as they smelled you on my skin, Matt and Makki were ready to accept you as their new packmaster. But I’m not going to force you to-”

“Tooru,” Iwaizumi said, soft and a little sad. “Once they meet me for real, the offer won’t stand. But tonight I can help you save someone in your pack, if you’ll let me.”

“Why wouldn’t the offer stand?”

Iwaizumi sighed. “Because packs bond and communicate through physical contact, and it hurts most shifters to touch me.”

“Because you’re strong?”

“I… yeah.”

“Makki called you the Wolfborn.” Iwaizumi’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “What does that mean?”

“Most shapeshifters are turned,” he said. “I come by it naturally.” When Oikawa tilted his head, Iwaizumi continued, “My parents are both werewolves. They run with the pack that controls most of northern Alabama. I was born on the full moon. As a wolf.”

“As a wolf?”

“My mother went into labor as a human, then she turned, then I turned, then a few hours later…”

Oikawa winced. “That poor woman.”

Iwaizumi hummed. “I bring her flowers every time I go home.” He shook his head. “You should get dressed. We need to get going.”

Oikawa groaned, but crossed the room to his antique wardrobe and started rifling through it. “I would kill for a shower.”

“I’m not exactly thrilled to be meeting your pack like this, either,” Iwaizumi muttered, wedging his foot into his shoe and bending down to tie it. “Though even if we spent an hour in the shower, I think we’d still smell like each other.”  It wasn’t like his pack wouldn’t know anyway – or like they didn’t already, apparently – but it still rankled, the idea of his first impression being as Oikawa’s plaything, and his second and probably last impression as being the big bad boogeyman of shapeshifters. The Wolfborn. He huffed under his breath. If their packmaster had called him that, it would be all the rest of them would see him as.

He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. That he was going tonight to help Oikawa solve a problem, and that none of them would ever want (or need) to see him again after that, so it didn’t matter what kind of impression he made. But Oikawa’s wolves were important to him, which meant they were going to _have_ to find a way to co-exist… without him barreling through their hierarchy the way he always did, and the way this Kyoutani already had. Oikawa’s wolves deserved a little stability, not-

Oikawa draped himself across Iwaizumi’s back, resting his chin on his shoulder. “So noisy, Iwa-chan.” Iwaizumi grunted, trying to shrug Oikawa off, but Oikawa slid his arms around Iwaizumi’s shoulders, nuzzling into his neck. “They’re going to like you,” he murmured. “Even if you do smell like you fucked the boss.” Iwaizumi growled, giving him another shake. Oikawa pressed a kiss to his jaw, murmuring against his skin, “Stop worrying.”

“I’m not worried,” Iwaizumi said curtly.

“I thought you were the one who said we should try to be honest with each other,” Oikawa said, sweet and innocent.

“I’ve done this enough times to know how it turns out,” he said, standing without giving Oikawa a chance to find his balance. Instead of sliding off him, though, Oikawa clung to his back, letting Iwaizumi lift him to his feet. When he didn’t make a move to let go, Iwaizumi sighed and leaned back into the circle of Oikawa’s arms. “It’s not about liking me, I just don’t want to scare them. They’ve been through enough already without…” He shook his head. He’d never met a pack that hadn’t been better off without him, and Oikawa’s had spent months dealing with his injury and all the fallout that went with it. They were already at the limits of their loyalty without him thrown in the mix. “I just don’t want to make things worse than they already are.”

“So let’s go make a good first impression,” Oikawa said, running his hands down the front of Iwaizumi’s shirt, absently smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric.

Iwaizumi turned to look over his shoulder at him. “What do you mean?”

Oikawa’s eyebrow raised. “We don’t exactly have volunteers lining up to go out and find Kyouken. I think they’ll appreciate the help.”

“I’m not doing it for them,” Iwaizumi said automatically. He could feel the hint of smug satisfaction starting to well up in Oikawa, and before it could run away with him, Iwaizumi added, “I’m not doing it for you, either. Your wolf is in trouble. He’s a danger to himself and anyone who gets in his way. If I can stop him from getting hurt, or hurting anyone else, I will.”

“I suppose you _would_ stick your neck out for any pack that needed your help, wouldn’t you?”

Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose. “You don’t walk away from people in need.”

Oikawa breathed a soft, humorless laugh, sliding out from behind Iwaizumi and hooking their fingertips together, drawing him towards the door. “Let’s not keep them waiting, then, Mr. Heroic.”

Iwaizumi sighed, but let Oikawa lead him out of the room and back down the hall, trying to focus on what needed to be done and not think too hard about what would come after. He autopiloted back to Bo’s Jeep and had unlocked the door and started to climb into the driver’s seat before Oikawa said, “Maybe not the best choice of vehicles, puppy.” Iwaizumi leaned back out of the car, shooting him a curious look. Oikawa was standing firm on the welcome mat of his lobby, lips pressed into a thin line. “If you’re worried how my pack will react to you smelling like me, you really don’t want to be smelling like _that_.”

Iwaizumi breathed in instinctively, searching for an offending odor, but it was the sour look on Oikawa’s face rather than the smell itself that made him realize the car carried the lingering musks of both Bo and TK. It was a familiar, comfortable smell – one that blended into the busy cacophony of scents that tickled the edges of his awareness with each inhale, but one that probably wasn’t going to earn him any points. If the pack knew of _him_ by reputation, they would have heard of TK, too. “Right,” he said, grabbing his phone off the passenger’s seat before closing and locking the door. “You have a car?”

Oikawa waved a hand. “Wait here,” he said, almost literally disappearing around the corner of the building. Apparently he was feeling better.

Iwaizumi glanced down at his phone. The screen was blinking with a missed call. He frowned, flipping it open. He’d called in to work as soon as he realized he wasn’t fit to drive, and he wasn’t expecting- He winced when he saw the number, then hit redial and put the phone to his ear.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Hey, Mom,” he said guiltily, leaning back against the door of the Jeep, then pushing away from it. “Sorry I missed your call, I-”

“ _It’s okay, bumblebee. I just wanted to make sure you were still coming for dinner._ ”

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. On his regular route, he should have been back home a few hours ago; in the chaos, he’d completely forgotten. “Actually, I don’t think I’m going to be able to make it home tonight.”

“ _Is your asshole boss making you work overtime again?_ ”

“No,” he said, then, “I mean, yeah, but that’s not-” He ran his hand down his face, and was surprised to find his throat getting tight. He hadn’t thought to call her before, because this wasn’t the kind of thing you were supposed to tell your mother, but hearing her voice made him realize how much he missed home – how much he wanted her advice. “Mom, I ran into some trouble the other night and-” He swallowed. “I’m okay, but it’s been a rough week. Do you think I could come by in a few days instead?”

He could hear his mother’s frown in the silence on the other end of the line. “ _We always have a space for you, Hajime,_ ” she said. “ _Don’t worry about dinner, just call whenever you have a chance to stop in_.”

He chewed his lip. “Thanks, Mom.”

She hummed. “ _Is it anything you want to talk about?_ ”

“I can’t right now,” he said. He could hear the rumble of an engine around the side of the building. “But…” He took a steadying breath. “There’s someone I need you to meet, and you’re not going to like it.”

“ _Not going to like it like the time we had that regional inter-pack meeting at a Waffle House and almost no one could look me in the eye?_ ” she asked, the hint of teasing in her voice not quite covering up her concern.

“He’s a vampire,” he said. “And I think this one is for keeps.”

Another moment of frigid silence, so brittle that Iwaizumi felt like he might snap in half. Then, “ _I hope he knows how many of us are going to come for him if he hurts you_.”

He choked out a laugh, rubbing away the moisture in his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I think he has an idea.”

“ _Because I have a whole Waffle House full of shapeshifters with a soft spot for you on speeddial._ ”

“And TK would be leading the hunt, I know. But it’s… It won’t come to that.”

“ _You’re safe?_ ” she asked more seriously.

He paused. “As much as I ever am.”

She breathed a tired laugh. “ _Are you happy?_ ”

He hesitated, then said, “I think I will be.” He rubbed his nose. “I am when I don’t think about it too hard.”

“ _You know, you’re more like your father every day_.”

“You might’ve said that once or twice.”

“ _Bring him by for dinner. When you can. I promise to take it easy on the garlic._ ”

Iwaizumi smiled. “Love you, Mom.”

“ _Love you too, baby. Stay safe_.”

“I always do,” he said, then hung up.

Oikawa was hovering at the corner of the building, pulling on a pair of leather gloves and pretending like he was out of earshot. “Ready to go?” he asked as Iwaizumi rounded the corner.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Oikawa said, sitting astride a perfect replica of Kiefer Sutherland’s motorcycle from _The Lost Boys_.

“You know this isn’t even a good bike, right?” Iwaizumi said, even as he straddled the seat and slid his arms around Oikawa’s waist.

“Isn’t it?” Oikawa asked, revving the engine and peeling out of the parking lot faster than a glorified dirt bike should have been able to. He held on a little tighter.

***

A few minutes later, they pulled off the highway and into a gravel lot. The “boat launch” was just a clearing carved out of the dense tree growth, little more than a path from the road down to a small jetty that jutted out onto one of the muddy channels that crisscrossed the swamp. There were a handful of picnic tables scattered in between, and Oikawa’s wolves were waiting at one of them, instantly silent and alert as Oikawa killed the engine and put down the kickstand.

It wasn’t hard to pick out their leader: he was the lanky, dark-haired one who stood, unslung the rifle from his back, and aimed it levelly at Iwaizumi’s chest as he climbed off the motorcycle. Fair enough; Iwaizumi knew his own reputation. The packmaster was one of the two that had come to Oikawa’s door. Matt? Makki? He wasn’t sure which was which, but he recognized the smell of them. The redhead next to him had a white-knuckled grip on an oversized pink umbrella. There was also someone apparently fast asleep atop the picnic table, a guy with a shaved head who was the only one who looked happy to be here, and one other familiar smell – a skinny kid perched on the corner of the table. He looked like he’d overdressed for a paintball match and was clutching a rifle like he’d never seen one before. It was _his_ dirty laundry Iwaizumi had picked up in Shreveport.

But there was someone else. He turned around, following the scent of a sixth wolf, just in time to hear a car door slam. “You miserable son of a bitch!” The driver of the car was tall and fair-haired, his expression twisted with rage.

“Ah, Yahaba, you made it,” Oikawa said, his forced cheer more than a little brittle.

“This is _your_ fucking fault, you piece of shit!” He was moving with purpose toward Oikawa, murder in his eyes. He didn’t even seem to notice Iwaizumi was there. “Because you couldn’t bother to check your goddamn phone, Ken is going to _die_ out there!”

He started to lunge at Oikawa, but Iwaizumi stepped between them. “Stop,” he said, calm and even but commanding.

Yahaba stopped moving like his legs had turned to lead, the undiluted hatred in his expression bleeding into surprise, then alarm, then refocusing back into anger, this time at Iwaizumi. “Who the fuck are you? Get out of my way!” he said, shoving Iwaizumi backwards. Or, at least, he tried to. As soon as his hands made contact with Iwaizumi’s shoulders, Yahaba let out a cry of pain and leapt away like he’d slammed his hands into a live fence. He landed hard on his ass on the ground and looked up at Iwaizumi with eyes that showed too much white. “What _are_ you?”

Iwaizumi’s stomach went cold. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it was always a knife twist. It had been a mistake to come here. He couldn’t even give the kid a hand up without hurting him more. Before he could muster any kind of reasonable sounding explanation or apology, a voice behind him said, “He’s the Wolfborn.”

It was the one with the gun, and Iwaizumi could feel the sights of the rifle tickling the center of his back. “Bullshit,” Yahaba said, more like he couldn’t believe it than that he didn’t. “What the fuck is he _doing_ here?” he asked Matt (or was it Makki? No – Matt), the heat of his anger mostly covering the waver in his voice.

“I’m here to help get your friend back,” Iwaizumi said. “I’m not trying to cause trouble,” he added, turning slowly to face the other wolves, hands held out at his sides. The redhead had opened the umbrella and was holding it out in front of him and his partner like a shield. “If you want an extra pair of hands, I’m here. If not, I’ll go.”

“Just like that?” Matt asked, not a drop of emotion in his voice.

“Just like that,” Iwaizumi said.

Matt considered him for a moment, then lowered the gun and nodded for him to join them. “Seriously?” Yahaba said. He hadn’t moved from the spot where he’d fallen. “That’s it? He’s just… on our _side_ now?”

“Oikawa trusts him,” Makki said.

“Yeah, ‘cause that counts for shit,” Yahaba snapped. He sniffed, conspicuously loud, then added, “Let’s trust the guy who fucked the boss into a better mood.”

Iwaizumi prickled, and he felt Oikawa tense beside him; he’d been staying still, quiet, letting the introduction play out how it would, but the urge to turn and kick the little asshole in the teeth was so strong he wasn’t sure which of them it had come from.

“He’s the reason the boss is back among the living,” Matt said. “And I’m not going to say no to help getting your wolf back at heel.” He stepped forward and held his hand out to Iwaizumi, but when Iwaizumi moved to shake his hand, Matt clasped his forearm instead, pressing the insides of their arms together for more skin contact. Beside him, Makki sucked in a pained breath, but other than a slight tightening of his jaw, Matt didn’t react to the touch. Instead of drawing back or letting go, he gripped Iwaizumi’s arm tighter. It was a true introduction – an invitation – and a portrait of him formed in Iwaizumi’s mind: a forest of spindly birch trees shrouded in cool evening mist, the haze making everything fade to shapes and impressions in the distance.

By the time Matt let go, Makki was looking a little pale. Iwaizumi held out his hand, offering but not expectant, and Makki gamely started to reach around from behind his umbrella. He stopped just short of taking Iwaizumi’s hand, though. “Actually,” he said, retreating back behind the umbrella, “I think I’ll pass for now. No offense.”

“None taken,” Iwaizumi said. The fact that Makki had reacted as much as he had meant either he was particularly sensitive, Matt had a _very_ good poker face, or the connection between them was strong. Judging from the way they were standing – close without being overt about it, maintaining points of skin contact – he figured at least the last was true; it was the way Bo and TK stood together in public when they weren’t thinking about it. Which meant the titles “first” and “second” were formal and probably interchangeable. “So, what’s the plan?” he asked them both.

“There isn’t one,” Matt said plainly.

“We’ve combed the area around where Kyoutani was being held,” Makki added. “But in his wolf form he’s too fast for us to track, and we don’t have anything to bait him with.”

“We were kinda hoping you’d have a brilliant idea to bring to the table,” the kid with the shaved head said, leaning to one side on the edge of the table to peer at Oikawa.

“I’m sure I could find him,” Oikawa said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I doubt he’ll follow me anywhere, let alone back to his pen.” His gaze shifted to Iwaizumi. “And if I force him to turn back now, it could hurt him.” There was a question under the statement – making sure what he was saying was right without admitting out loud that he wasn’t sure.

“Like you give a shit,” Yahaba snapped. “He was never anything more than a _garbage_ disposal to you, and now _you_ don’t need him anymore. If he weren’t under the Bishop’s protection, you probably would have killed him just to be done with it!”

“If I wanted Kyoutani dead, it wouldn’t matter what Ushiwaka had to say about it,” Oikawa snapped. Before Yahaba could respond, Oikawa added, “Look, I know what you think of me, but I’m going to make this right.”

“ _How?_ ”

Oikawa looked to Iwaizumi, who frowned and shifted his gaze back to Oikawa’s two lead wolves. “You said you don’t have anything to bait him with?”

Matt shook his head. “No new bodies since you showed up, and he’s already eaten his way through our emergency reserve of pork.”

“No chance of a resupply?”

“Not soon enough to matter,” Makki said. “The Bishop gives safe passage to one driver of one truck on the first and third Fridays of the month. We’re lucky the guy takes a detour for us in the first place.”

“Sounds like it’s time to piss off your boss, then,” he said to Oikawa, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Oikawa smiled. “Charmer.”

He scrolled through his contacts and dialed _Chop Shop_ . After two rings, the call picked up. “ _Yeah_?”

“Lev, it’s me, Jimmy, I-”

 _“Buddy, hey! Well ain’t it been a month a’Sundays! How y’all been? We missed you at brunch the other day!_ ”

“Yeah, I-”

“ _And TK gave us all the boot that night. He must have been right pissed at you. Was he pissed at you?_ ”

“When isn’t he?” Iwaizumi said. Before Lev could start talking again, he pressed, “Look, Lev, I need a favor.”

“ _Yeah, a’course, anything you need, just s_ -”

“I need at least one live pig and as much meat as you can fit on one of your reinforced trucks, tonight.”

“ _Jesus. Did something happen up at the ranch_?”

“Not a favor for TK, a favor for me.” He took a deep breath. “And I’m gonna need you to make the run to Baton Rouge. I know it’s a lot to ask, but-”

“ _Wait, you know the Doc_?”

Iwaizumi blinked. “What?”

“ _The Doc!_ ” he repeated, more enthusiastically but not more helpfully. “ _I do a little scat work for him and his crew on the side, up in Baton Rouge? They’re the ones who got Bo’s eagle pal back on up in the air after he flew off course and took a face full of buckshot from a drunk hunter_.”

Iwaizumi’s eyes flicked over to Matt and Makki in surprise. Makki looked away, just shy of whistling innocently, but Matt met his gaze and kept it. He’d heard rumors of people in trouble finding help in vampire territory, of someone out in the swamp bagging, tagging, and rehabbing feral shifters, but he hadn’t expected – “Yeah, Lev, and one of his own is in trouble. We could really use the help tonight.”

“ _Jimmy, I feel for you, I really do, but there’s no way. I can maybe get you the goods but my tires don’t even touch I-10 without permission from someone in the clergy, ya feel_?”

“I know it, and I wouldn’t ask you to. If I can get you that permission, can you make the run?”

The line was silent for a moment. “ _The fuck did you get yourself into, Jimmy_?”

“You can say no. But I need a yes or no.”

Lev sighed, loudly. “ _You know my sister would kick my ass if I told you no for anything. Get me permission and I’ll get you your truck_.”

“Thanks, Lev. I owe you one,” he said, then put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Oikawa. “Make it happen,” he said, and tossed him the phone.

Oikawa’s eyebrow raised, bordering on incredulous, but he put the phone to his ear and smiled sweetly as he turned away from the group. “Hello, Lev?”

Paintball kid looked absolutely scandalized, the guy with the shaved head was barely holding back a laugh, and there was a little crinkle of amusement around Makki’s eyes.

“What?” Iwaizumi asked.

The guy who had been napping on the table said, “I like him.”

“Well I don’t,” Yahaba said, stomping over to the picnic table from where he’d been brooding next to a tree. “Is that your whole plan? Leave some bait out and hope he comes back?”

“Actually, I was hoping you could tell me about him before we go looking.”

Yahaba blinked. “What?”

“You’re the one that knows him best, right? I need to know who he is if I’m going to help bring him back, and to be honest I’m not even a hundred percent sure I know what his name is.”

“Kentarou,” Yahaba said, his voice flat. “His name is Kentarou Kyoutani.”

Iwaizumi gave a small nod. “Tell me about Kentarou. How did he end up out there?” he asked, nodding towards the dense treeline.

“I’ll tell you how he ended up out there,” Yahaba said, temper flaring. He pointed accusingly at Oikawa. “ _That_ asshole piled corpses on him for six _months_ , then cut him off cold turkey.”

“Helpful,” the guy on the table muttered. He still hadn’t even opened his eyes.

“If it hadn’t been for Kyouken, Oikawa would have desiccated months ago,” Iwaizumi said. The words felt unfamiliar on his tongue, a defense of Oikawa he didn’t understand beyond a brief mental flash of a dried up husk with papery, cinnamon-colored hair. He shook the thought – memory? – off. “Things never should have gotten to this point, but it was the Bishop who sent you here. And Kentarou was working for him before this, right?”

“The Bishop sent them both back with Oikawa six months ago,” Matt said. “Said Kyoutani had the best appetite of any of his hounds.”

“Ken’s not a killer,” Yahaba said, his voice tight with anger. “And he’s not some wild animal.”

There were sour faces all around the table, but no one was willing to voice an objection. Despite the situation, if anyone would know what Kyoutani was _really_ like, it would be the person who had known him before all this. Iwaizumi asked, “Did the Bishop force him into his service?”

Yahaba’s expression twisted in distaste. “Not exactly,” he admitted. “Ken-Kentarou always got along better with animals. He worked for wildlife control back in Lacombe. He was always good at handling the really scared animals.” He scratched his shoulder, folded his arms across his chest. “Last call he got was for one of the Bishop’s wolves that had broken out and made a run for it, but got tangled up in some safety fencing. Ken got scratched, so the Bishop forced them both back into the fold, but Ken hated it there. He was happier as a wolf. So the Bishop put him on a ‘special diet.’ He hasn’t been human for more than a few weeks at a time since.”

“Do you think he wants to come back?” Iwaizumi asked, as gently as he could.

“Not if it means going back to New Orleans,” he said. “But he never wanted this to happen,” he added, gesturing out toward the swamplands.

Iwaizumi turned to address the rest of the pack. “When he joined, did he try to rank y’all?”

“Every single one of us.” The one splayed out on his back on the table still didn’t bother to look up, sounding about as tired as he looked. “Twice.”

Someone with strong lupine instincts, a competitive nature, and a respect for strength and hierarchy. He could work with that. “Alright,” he said. “Last question: if we bring him back safe, and you have the supplies and time you need to work with him… do you think there’s still someone in there to save?”

“Yes,” Yahaba said without hesitation. “If Oikawa doesn’t fuck him up any more than he already has-”

“He won’t,” Iwaizumi said resolutely. “But he won’t stand for having a flesh-eater bullying his pack, and neither will I. If he comes back from this, it has to be all the way back.”

Yahaba gave a small nod, then held out his hand. “Deal.” Iwaizumi weighed him with his gaze for a moment, then clasped his forearm, fingers gripping into flesh. Yahaba did the same, discomfort written on his face, but he was prepared this time, and didn’t pull away. With him, the introduction was just a flash – a garden full of morning glories, buds twisted shut awaiting the sun, dewdrops like pinpricks of cold. When Iwaizumi let go, Yahaba instinctively gripped the spot on his arm Iwaizumi had touched, just barely keeping from nursing it. “So what’s your brilliant plan?”

“He’s wolf enough to care about the order of things. If I go into his territory, he’ll try to fight me. When he loses-”

“ _When_ he loses?”

Iwaizumi met Yahaba’s eyes. “When he loses, he’ll either try to fight me again, or he’ll follow me. If y’all can keep a perimeter, I’ll flush him back here, then we can bait him onto the truck when Lev gets here and take him somewhere safe.”

“Brilliant plan,” Yahaba said wryly. “Just one question: how do you plan to catch up to a wolf on foot?”

“I plan on having four feet,” Iwaizumi said.

Yahaba looked bewildered, but Makki tensed. “That’s insane.”

“Do you have a better idea?” Iwaizumi asked, keeping his voice calm and even. “I know you’ve thought through the options. You could have Oikawa tranq him, but then you’ve got, what, two hundred pounds of dead weight miles into a swamp, no access roads? You could watch the perimeter, but what if he gets past you? You could bait him, but he’ll run down a human before he shows up for a barbecue.” He shook his head. “We have to get his attention, and we have to bring him back here. I can do that.”

“Great plan, really brilliant,” Yahaba said. “You turn against the moon and Ken will still be out there and we’ll have a _second_ superpowered flesh-eating monster on our hands.”

Iwaizumi’s temper flared, throat hot and tight. He didn’t say a word or move a muscle, but Yahaba stumbled back a step, and the kid in the paintball gear slipped and fell clean off the picnic table. “I don’t hunt humans,” he said, slow to keep his tone even and restrained.

“It’s a risk,” Makki said, stepping toward him with his hands out, like he could mold the shape of Iwaizumi’s anger shimmering in the air. “Turning against the moon is always a risk.”

Iwaizumi took a slow, deep breath. “I’m aware,” he said. “But Oikawa can call my wolf, and he can call me back. It’s worth the risk if it means bringing your wolf back before he hurts anyone.”

Makki started to object, but Matt chimed in, “He can do it.” All eyes shifted to him; even Iwaizumi was a little surprised at his defense. “It wouldn’t be the first time, right? You’ve done this before.”

Iwaizumi considered him. It wasn’t really a question, but he nodded. “I have.” But Matt could have meant anything - something he'd really done, or just one of the stories that had been told about him.

Matt frowned. "Most of the rumors I've heard about you, I'd pass off as urban legends. But there was a werefox north of Texarkana who was a-” Matt stopped, his eyes flicking to Yahaba for just a second. “A friend of mine. We lost track of her for a few weeks, and next thing I knew, she came back clean and human with a nice gentle set of bite marks,” he said, gesturing at his throat. “Yours?”

Iwaizumi remembered her. He gave a small nod. “She was harrying packs in three states, killing because she kept turning back too slow and couldn’t take the pain. I kept her in one spot until it passed, then helped her find her way home.”

“And Oikawa can force you back if you lose control?”

“If you doubt me and he doesn’t, shoot me,” Iwaizumi said.

“But you don’t even know him.” The kid in the paintball gear had hauled himself back up onto the picnic bench, but now looked like the words had slipped out of his mouth without his consent. He looked like he was pretty sure any one of the people here might jump on him and tear his throat out at any moment, and when Iwaizumi really turned his attention to him, he realized why: the kid’s neck was covered in ugly, jagged bite marks – like the vampire bites the redhead who had given him the duffel bag was toting.

Fucking vampires. He ground his teeth, giving himself a moment to push the thought down before answering, gently, “I know he’s in trouble, and I know if I do nothing, he might hurt someone. Isn’t that enough?”

The kid’s eyes went wide, but before he could say anything, Yahaba snapped, “This is bullshit. If anyone’s going to go after him, it should be me.”

“And when was the last time you turned against the full moon, Shigeru?” Matt asked.

Yahaba’s nose wrinkled. “I should at least go with you. He knows me. Maybe I could get through to him. Fuck knows he’s not going to listen to anything Oikawa has to say.”

Iwaizumi smiled bitterly. “Do you think you can keep up with me on foot?”

Yahaba’s jaw worked and his shoulders straightened, making him grow a few haughty inches. “You can’t just march in here and do whatever you want,” he said.

“Obviously, he can,” said the guy on the table, who finally propped himself up on one elbow to look at them. “And I kinda wish he would, because then we could stop arguing about this since we all know he’s right.”

“Well it’s all a moot point if we can’t get that truck,” Yahaba said, but he was floundering.

“Actually, that won’t be a problem,” Oikawa said, striding back into the clearing. Damn, but he knew how to make an entrance. “Your associate is loading up a truck as we speak. He should be here in about three hours.” He snapped Iwaizumi’s phone shut and tossed it to him. “Care to fill me in on the plan, pet?”

 _Pet_. It sent a shiver down his spine that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. Something to worry on later. “You know what to do once the truck gets here?” Iwaizumi asked Makki and Matt, setting his cell phone down on the picnic table and piling his wallet and car keys on top of it - better not to leave them in his pants in the woods in the dark.

Matt nodded, and Makki said, “Not our first rodeo.”

“Alright. Oikawa will probably be back to you before we are, but as soon as the truck gets here, be ready. We’re going to get him back before sunup.”

He waved to Oikawa, gesturing for him to follow him back toward the treeline. Behind them, Paintball called, “Good luck!”

Once they were in the cover of the trees, enough out of earshot that Oikawa’s wolves would really have to try to eavesdrop on them, Oikawa asked under his breath, “So, what idiotically heroic thing are you planning to do now?”

Iwaizumi didn’t answer immediately. It _was_ dumb – incredibly so. The fear Oikawa’s pack had expressed wasn’t misplaced; turning now would be painful, dangerous, and difficult – and it was a damn good way to go as crazy as he was afraid Kyoutani was. And _they_ didn’t know that Oikawa had already forced him into a partial turn that morning. Twice in one day, less than a week after a full moon. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was the best one he had, and he was the only person there who had a chance at pulling it off. “I want you to help me turn,” he said carefully, “so I can go after Kentarou. He’s territorial, and I think if we can find him, I can get him to chase me back here – into the back of a truck.”

“And the exceptionally stupid, self-sacrificing part?”

Iwaizumi chewed his lip. “I might need a little convincing to turn back.”

“And by ‘convincing’ you mean…?”

“Your help,” he said, then admitted, “and maybe a day or two in your safe room.”

“And what are the chances we end up with two hungry wolves out there instead of one?”

Iwaizumi shook his head. “Even if my wolf takes over, I won’t hurt anyone. I just might not want to… be me again right away.”

“How can you be sure?”

Iwaizumi let out a tired laugh. “I spent most of my childhood more wolf than human. Momma taught me not to bite.”

Oikawa gave a small nod. “And if you find Kyouken and come back and you’re not… you?”

“Call for me until I come back to you. Just don’t…”

“Pull?”

Iwaizumi breathed a tired laugh. “Yeah, that might not go so well.”

“How do you plan on finding him in the first place?”

Iwaizumi opened his mouth, then closed it. “I have a stupid question.” Oikawa raised his eyebrows.  “Can you…” He stopped, closing his eyes. He couldn’t believe these words were about to come out of his mouth. “Can vampires fly?”

When he looked up, though, Oikawa wasn’t laughing – he looked somewhere between amused and perplexed. “What in the world are you planning?”

“Just - yes or no?”

“Not exactly,” he said. “But tell me what you need me to do.”

“I was just thinking… you can probably outpace me on foot, but if Kentarou spots you first-”

“He’ll know you’re with me.”

Iwaizumi nodded. “If he’s spooked, he might attack us both. But if you could get a bird’s eye vantage point, you could scout ahead without him noticing you. You could point me in the right direction and keep an eye on us both, just in case.”

“I like the way you think,” Oikawa said with a smile, then was gone faster than Iwaizumi’s eyes could track. “This way I won’t have to wade through swamp water.” Iwaizumi followed the sound of his voice, looking up, and found Oikawa crouched on a tree branch overhead.

“You can run like that?”

Another flash, and Oikawa was on another branch of another tree a few feet away. “You might even be able to keep up with me this way.”

“Cute,” Iwaizumi said, starting to unbutton his shirt. As soon as he undid the last button, Oikawa was in front of him, smoothing his hands over Iwaizumi’s chest and pushing the shirt off his shoulders. Iwaizumi’s lips curled into a small smile. “Show off.”

Oikawa let Iwaizumi’s shirt drop to the ground, but instead of immediately reaching for his belt (which Iwaizumi more than half expected), he took Iwaizumi’s hands in his and asked, “How dangerous is this, really?”

“Enough that I wouldn’t ask anyone else to do it,” he said, rubbing his thumbs against Oikawa’s wrists, “but not so much that it’s not worth doing.”

Oikawa heaved a sigh, then pressed a kiss to the corner of Iwaizumi’s mouth. “Just make sure you come back.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere yet.” Oikawa’s look turned a little sour, and Iwaizumi reached up to cup his face in his hands, pressing a soft, slow kiss to his lips before touching their foreheads together. “I’ll always come back to you, Tooru,” he said, purposefully meeting Oikawa’s gaze. It was enough to feel the pull of him, the shiver of something moving beneath his skin, and he closed his eyes and pulled Oikawa close, hiding his face in his hair. “God, this is going to hurt.”

“No point in putting it off,” Oikawa said, not quite carefree, fingertips toying with the hair at the nape of Iwaizumi’s neck.

Iwaizumi nodded and drew back, huffing out a sigh before peeling off his undershirt. “Should have come wearing tearaway pants and slippers,” he grumbled, hopping on one foot to pick at the laces of his boot and pull it off.

“Never too late for a wardrobe upgrade,” Oikawa said. “Though I wouldn’t trade those jeans for the world.”

No need to mention they weren’t _technically_ his, if the slightly-too-long legs and slightly-too-tight fit weren’t a giveaway on their own. He wiggled out of them (and Bo’s neon blue briefs), before turning back to Oikawa, who wasn’t even bothering to pretend he wasn’t staring. “You know, I think your wolves might not be too happy if we start fooling around in the woods instead of going to look for Kentarou.”

“Pity,” Oikawa said, slowly lifting his gaze to Iwaizumi’s eyes. He raised his wrist to his mouth and bit it, then offered it to Iwaizumi. The blood welling up from the small puncture marks was thick and dark. “For the pain,” he explained.

Iwaizumi shivered, taking Oikawa’s wrist in both hands and raising it to his lips. The second he tasted blood, his wolf began to stir, something dormant and subdued stretching out and waking, rubbing curiously against his insides. He dropped to his knees as he started to drink, dizzy with whispers of steam and soft promises. It was a struggle to open his eyes, to look up and meet Oikawa’s gaze, but when their eyes locked, Oikawa called him, quiet but commanding, “Hajime.”

It hurt, not like it had that morning – not unexpected, not brutal – but no less unnatural. He let out a soft whine of pain, fighting the urge to bite down, to pull away, to curl in on himself as the bones started to shift inside his body, slower than they should have as Oikawa coaxed his wolf to the surface.

“Hajime,” he said again. “Heed my call.”

This time, he pulled away from Oikawa’s wrist with a gasp, choking on a cry of pain. He dug his hands into the damp earth, gripping it as something inside him started to tear and snap. He panted, forehead touching the ground at Oikawa’s feet, his mouth filling with sickly sweet saliva as his teeth started to lengthen to points and the bones in his face began to grind and shift, reshaping.

“Iwaizumi Hajime,” Oikawa said, his voice merciless and demanding in a way Iwaizumi could _feel_ he wasn’t, “I command you.”

This time, he screamed, bloody and bone-chilling as his wolf rushed to answer. It was like being turned inside out, everything inside him moving in ways it shouldn’t all at once, fur spilling out of his skin. He screamed until there was no air in his lungs, until his human voice turned to hoarse lupine yelps, until he was wholly reshaped, limp and trembling in a pile on the swampy earth.

He was slow to rise, breathing hard and weak with pain, and before he could get to his feet, Oikawa knelt in front of him, smoothing cool hands through his ruff, rubbing thumbs against the base of his ears. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, forehead pressed to the top of Iwaizumi’s head. “I’m so sorry.”

Iwaizumi butted him gently with his head, struggling to his feet and into the circle of Oikawa’s arms. His touch made the pain less than it was, and his blood… it made the nebulous thing that wasn’t quite Oikawa’s wolf stretch slow and elastic between them. He leaned his weight on Oikawa, content to let him run his hands through his fur until his legs stopped shaking and he felt steady on his own feet. Then he drew away, sat back on his haunches, and looked up at Oikawa expectantly. Oikawa sat back on his heels and sighed, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “Alright, let’s go bring the problem child home.” He smiled weakly. “Try to keep up,” he said, and disappeared.

This time, he followed Oikawa when he moved, and it took him a moment to realize that he hadn’t tracked him with his eyes or his nose – he simply _knew_ where Oikawa was, a weight at the periphery of his awareness, like an instinct that told him which way to move. He didn’t know this swamp, the lake or the channels or the terrain, more than what little Oikawa had told him on the ride from the hotel and what he’d seen from the road and on his map. But when he breathed in deep he knew more than the air could tell him – the size of the preserve and the locations of the campgrounds, where they’d been holding Kyoutani and where he liked to run. He knew where he was going without thinking and bounded off at top speed.

It was only when he really started to move that he realized how different this was. He could feel the ground beneath the pads of his feet, but he could feel the tree bark, too, rough against hands that weren’t his, the thrill of wind rushing against bare skin he didn’t have. He could see the forest mapped out around him from angles beyond what his eyes could reach, detailed with senses beyond his own, the taste of the air new but familiar. Iwaizumi had run with dozens of packs, with every species in every hidden corner of the country, but he hadn’t felt anything like this since he was a child – moving through the darkness as a single body, not a mismatched part in a cohesive whole. It made his wolf rise up in him, eager and unchained, forgetting their purpose as he raced deeper into the swamp.

He could feel Oikawa’s laughter like it was bubbling up out of his own chest, the thump of his heart stirring to life as he pushed himself to keep pace. Even running with his parents hadn’t been like this – his flesh and blood, racing past the rocks and trees on the land behind his childhood home, the nearest thing he’d ever had to a pack. For the first time in decades of full moons, a lifetime of searching for a place he could fit, for the first time in his life, Iwaziumi knew what it felt like to be whole – to have what every other shifter he’d ever met had taken for granted.

And it spilled over onto Oikawa: the weight of years of isolation unraveling, the surprised delight that made the infamous lone wolf race through the woods like an eager puppy, bounding and barking. Oikawa dropped down from the trees, lighter than air and not missing a stride as he fell in step at Iwaizumi’s side, close enough that Iwaizumi could feel the ghost of him just barely touching the tips of his fur, warmth and light and _home_. Oikawa laughed again, a sound somewhere between happy and hurt, like he’d half choked on it. But there was nothing to be sad about – nothing in the world had ever felt this good. Iwaizumi bumped Oikawa with his side, nipping playfully at him, and Oikawa tapped his snout, making him chuff, and raced ahead – not fast enough to leave him behind but fast enough to force Iwaizumi to chase him.

Any time he got close enough to nip or lick, Oikawa would shoot back up into the trees out of reach, zipping from branch to branch and leading him through the dense overgrowth. But even when the thick canopy and draping vines obscured him from view, Iwaizumi never lost track of him, clearer in his mind than the north star on a cloudless night. He didn’t know where he was going, but Oikawa did, and that was all the compass his wolf wanted – glimpses of his mate darting through the treetops, hair wild and silhouetted against the night sky and the waning moon.

He could have spent all night nipping at Oikawa’s heels, herding him towards the nearly-invisible spots where the ground turned from soggy to wet, jumping after him almost high enough to catch the branches of the trees. But then, above and beyond the sound of Oikawa’s laughter whispering through the leaves, he heard howling in the distance.

It was enough to shock him back to himself, to make him remember why they were there in the first place. He dropped down from where he’d run Oikawa up a tree and went rigid. Every hair on his body bristled with alarm and readiness, his focus turning outward – to the forest, to the night, to what he could smell and what Oikawa could see. Then he tipped his head back and howled in answer.

The callback came immediately, closer than he expected and approaching fast. Iwaizumi chuffed a warning at Oikawa, but he had already disappeared into the treetops. Iwazumi closed his eyes, feeling out along the connection between them, linking until he could see himself down through the dense treetops, see movement approaching through the swamp. Together, they found a relatively clear patch of solid ground, and Iwaizumi bolted towards it, howling again to make himself known.

He skidded into the clearing and planted his feet in the damp earth He could still feel the invisible weight of Oikawa suspended above him like armor on his back, but he let the awareness of him fade into the background, breathing deep and focusing all his senses on the trees in front of him. Kyoutani was crashing through the undergrowth, hungry for a fight, and Iwaizumi was ready for it.

But he wasn’t ready for what he saw when the mad dog came barreling into the clearing. He was all teeth and rage, growling and lunging at Iwaizumi almost before he could see him. But rage was all he was. He was bony and lean, his dusky fur patchy and dull, and there were bloody stripes crisscrossing his face, neck, and chest where he’d been muzzled and chained, probably with silver. Iwaizumi _growled_ , blazing with anger, and Kyoutani stopped mid-lunge, stumbling back on his hind legs with a yelp and nearly falling.

Someone would answer for this. The only thing that kept him from turning on Oikawa right then was the flare of shock and horror on the other end of their connection; Oikawa hadn’t known. It made Yahaba’s furious insistence that Kyoutani wasn’t an animal both make sense and ring false. _He_ at least had known, and whatever desperation had driven him to do this… Iwaizumi wasn’t going to let it happen again. No matter how hurt he was, though, there was nothing Iwaizumi could do to help Kyoutani until he gave him a reason to listen.

So he stood his ground, rumbling a threat but not advancing. If he could do this without hurting him, he would. But it wasn’t long before Kyoutani lunged at him again, snapping teeth near his face but dancing back without touching, repelled by the force of Iwaizumi’s presence. He let out a startled bark and bared his teeth, backing in a slow circle around him and snarling, unsure what to make of him. Iwaizumi didn’t so much as flinch – he stayed tall and bristled, his full attention focused on Kyoutani, his low rumble rising into a growl. This was when most shifters backed down, recognizing him as something different than they were used to. But Kyoutani lunged again, going for Iwaizumi’s throat.

He was fast enough to graze flesh but not fast enough to get hold of him, teeth ripping at Iwaizumi’s fur as he pushed back, shoving his weight into Kyoutani to drive him back. When he lunged again, Iwaizumi caught him by the throat, closing his jaws down and flinging him to the ground. He was lighter than a wolf his size should have been, the energy needed to stay shifted making him slowly waste away without anything to sustain the transformation. But hurt as he was, Kyoutani was fast, nimble, and strong. He scrambled backwards before Iwaizumi could pin him, tail tucked between his legs and body low to the ground but hackles raised, still snarling and snapping.

Iwaizumi lunged before Kyoutani could regroup, but he still refused to concede, rearing up on his hind legs and hooking his forearms over Iwaizumi’s shoulders, trying to force his head down – trying to force him to submit. Iwaizumi bucked him off easily – more instinct than intent – and Kyoutani yelped as he hit the ground hard. The part of Iwaizumi that was human had to respect Kyoutani’s dogged gumption, but his wolf was less amused; this sick, wild pup needed to be reminded of his place. Before Kyoutani had a chance to regain his footing, Iwaizumi went for his throat again, pinning him on his back on the ground and biting him hard enough to show he meant it.

Kyoutani squirmed and whined, but as soon as he started to kick – struggling in earnest – Iwaizumi bit down harder and growled. Kyoutani stilled instantly, but he was seething with displeasure. Now that he was holding him down, Iwaizumi felt the impression of him: it was like shoving his face into brambles and cacti, the shimmering heat of a scorching desert noon blasting him in the face as Kyoutani’s every instinct fought against him. He keened, in pain more from the mere fact that they were touching than the grip of Iwaizumi’s jaws. He pushed his paws against Iwaizumi’s face, trying to make him back off, but Iwaizumi held him down, steady and still, until the anger started to cool into reluctant acceptance.

Another wolf might have been able to get a better read on Kyoutani – offer him some comfort or reassurance or feel out whether or not there was still a human consciousness in him that could react to him. But the connection between them was prickled and distorted by Kyoutani’s discomfort, the same sharp static that came between Iwaizumi and every other shifter he knew, in varying degrees. Then again, Oikawa’s wolves might have been able to get through to him, but they hadn’t been able to _stop_ him. And for now at least, subdued was, maybe, the part that mattered.

Iwaizumi began to back off, gradually relaxing his jaw and attentive for Kyoutani’s reaction – to see whether he’d stay down or keep challenging him. He knew the fight hadn’t gone out of Kyoutani entirely, but he hoped at least that he’d made his point - that if Kyoutani was going to keep pushing, it would just be posturing. But he hadn’t even fully let go of Kyouani’s throat before he tore away, ripping his tender flesh on Iwaizumi’s jaws before slamming into him and biting viciously at his flank. Iwaizumi was only caught by surprise for a moment – long enough for Kyoutani to draw blood, but not enough for him to make a second attack. Iwaizumi’s low growl turned into a snarl and he threw himself back at Kyoutani, his wolf’s anger bleeding into his own.

Kyoutani yipped and ran, light on his feet and lightning fast, bolting back into the trees before Iwaizumi could catch him. So that was how it was going to be. Kyoutani wasn’t going to submit until he didn’t have any fight left in him. Iwaizumi huffed, then started chasing after him, hoping that there was more left to Kyoutani than just the fight, and that he’d be able to find it before it was too late.

Kyoutani was fast – a little faster even than Iwaizumi. But he was running recklessly, impervious to the terrain and leaving a clear trail of blood behind him. It prickled Iwaizumi’s hunting instinct, and he tipped his head back and howled, setting a steady, even pace as he followed Kyoutani’s trail deeper into the woods. At the edge of his awareness, he could feel Oikawa zipping through the trees, darting ahead and back, ahead and back, moving faster than either of the wolves below. But Iwaizumi knew Kyoutani couldn’t keep up his frantic pace forever. As he began to tire (and the wound on his neck continued to bleed), the distance between them began to close. He howled again, both warning and threat, and pushed forward, snapping at Kyoutani’s flank. Kyoutani still had enough energy to yip and dash ahead, but when he slowed again it was clear he was flagging.

Iwaizumi hadn’t pushed himself in the pursuit and was able to close the distance easily, harrying Kyoutani’s side until the patchy fur on his hindquarters was matted with blood. Before Iwaizumi could bite again, Kyoutani dropped to the ground and rolled on his back, this time willingly exposing his belly and baring his throat. There was nowhere left to run, and if he fought much longer, he wasn’t going to live through the night – and now at last he seemed to realize it.

Iwaizumi came to a stop standing over him, feet planted to prevent him from popping up and trying to escape again, but instead of posturing or pinning him, he leaned down over him and started to lick gently at the oozing wound on his neck. It had taken far more than he hoped to keep Kyoutani down, but his sudden submission made it more important than ever that they not let him die. If nothing had been left of him but the wolf, he would have fought until Iwaizumi ran him down. But he hadn't. Some part of him knew that if he submitted, Iwaizumi wouldn't hurt him, and he damn well wasn't going to betray that trust. Iwaizumi whined softly, reaching out for Oikawa, reaching for help.

Of course, as soon as he dropped down from the trees, Kyoutani started to snarl and struggle again. Iwaizumi snapped at his snout and growled, and it was enough to quiet him down to a low hum of displeasure as Oikawa approached them both. “I know you’d rather die than listen to me,” he said, low and even, his tone vaguely hypnotic, “but I can’t let that happen. So let’s make this quick.” He bit his wrist again, the same as he had for Iwaizumi, but this time he held the dripping wound over Kyoutani’s mouth.

It took a little finesse – Oikawa prying Kyoutani's jaws open while Iwaizumi pinned him to the swampy ground – but it didn’t take much blood at all before his wounds started to knit and scab, the raw, bloody marks on his face and throat starting to scar and heal. And as Oikawa drew back, nursing his wrist, and Kyoutani licked and smacked the last of the blood from his snout, something else happened.

The red static noise prickling between him and Iwaizumi started to fade. Relief washed over them both, the same sudden release of tension as the quiet after a car alarm finally shuts off. And this time Kyoutani was more than just prickly pears and hot sand – he was red rocks and the smell of baked earth, quiet life hidden in patches of shade and soil that was cool and damp beneath the surface, wisps of clouds that promised neither rain nor shade drifting slowly across an achingly blue sky. It was the clearest connection he’d ever had with another shifter – like it was with TK or Daichi but more, as noiseless and easy as it was with Oikawa, if not as deep or close. And it was almost overwhelming.

He lowered himself to the ground just a hair more gracefully than collapsing, molding himself to Kyoutani's side with one foreleg draped over him to keep him pinned, then buried his face in Kyoutani's ruff, breathing deep - hot dust and scrub brush and small purple flowers opening to the sun, dizzying and close enough to touch. This time, when Iwaizumi started to groom him, Kyoutani let him, reluctantly licking and nibbling at Iwaizumi's face whenever he came close enough. It was comfortable and easy in a way it had only ever been maybe with his own parents, and the only difference was...Oikawa's blood.

He looked up, bewildered and questioning, as Oikawa knelt beside them. Kyoutani shied away from him, shifting so his stomach wasn't exposed and nestling back against Iwaizumi. "I take it we're all friends now?" Oikawa asked, reaching tentatively towards them. Kyoutani rumbled with displeasure and protest, moving to snap at Oikawa's hand, but Iwaizumi nipped at him, nibbling his cheek until he quieted. With Kyoutani subdued, Oikawa reached out again, stroking his hand down along Iwaizumi's flank. The mixture of sensations - dry desert air and rich velvety hot spring steam - made Iwaizumi croon. He knew this was what a pack was supposed to feel like, hints of awareness of the whole whispering through his mind, but this was the first time it didn’t feel like there was an itchy wool sweater between him and everyone around him.

He butted his head into Oikawa's hand, rubbing against his palm and whining softly. He wanted more touch, more skin, more contact - more of this feeling of connectedness, and he could _feel_ that Kyoutani did, too - a bright, clear note of loneliness that resonated with a part of him he tried so hard to pretend wasn't there. Kyoutani had been rejected by pack after pack, not in the same way or for the same reasons, but the isolation and the hunger for touch was the same. He didn't like Oikawa, found him barely tolerable, but when Iwaizumi started nipping at Oikawa's hand, trying to pull him closer, he didn't object.

Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa's hesitation even without the obvious reluctance written on his face, but when he whined again, entreating, Oikawa sighed. "Alright, alright. But if he bites me, I'm blaming you." He patted the ground skeptically, crinkling his nose at the damp earth, but sighed again and turned around, sitting down and leaning back against Kyoutani's stomach, using the pair of them as a backrest. Iwaizumi nestled closer, curling up to spoon the both of them, and Oikawa stretched his arms out across the length of Iwaizumi's side like the back of a sofa and gave him a firm pat on the butt.

He didn’t try to hide the fact that his tail was wagging.

***

For a time, Iwaizumi drifted – relaxed and content in a pile of warmth and fur, solid earth beneath him and the waning moon traveling through the night sky. He could feel Kyoutani healing like the slow, steady growth of vines, feel something – someone – stirring inside him. It didn’t like Oikawa any more than the wolf did, but it clung to Iwaizumi, trying to find its way to the surface – searching for purchase in a body that had been so alien for so long. He was hungry, though, an itch in his gums and an ache in his joints as his wolf form started to falter. Only one thing would ease the pain, halt the slow and agonizing transformation back into the human body he was so disconnected from.

It was going to be alright, though – Kyoutani was safe and no one was going to get hurt and they were going to find a way to bring him back the right way, without the pain. Iwaizumi’s surety passed between them, comfort and calm transmitting with each slow, sleepy breath. Even Oikawa was relaxed and drowsy, lazily running one hand along Iwazumi’s flank, the other buried in Kyoutani’s ruff, communing.

Until the wind changed.

Iwaizumi and Kyoutani sprung to their feet as one, dumping Oikawa unceremoniously on the ground. Iwaizumi was deep enough in Kyoutani’s thoughts that his mouth was already watering, every inch of him prickling and ready for the hunt before he realized that what he’d smelled way off in the distance was a person. It hit him hard enough to check the instinct to run, but Kyoutani was already bolting off into the trees. “ _No!_ ” Oikawa shouted, alarmed and desperate disproportionate for the person who had been feeding Kyoutani corpses for six months. “Oh, god. Hajime, go! Stop him! You gotta stop him-” he said, finding his feet and flashing off into the trees. He was gone too fast to follow, nothing more than a bright metallic ping of panic in front of him, but Kyoutani had set a slow, loping hunter’s pace, moving steadily through the trees.

Iwaizumi started after him, scenting the air and trying to get his bearings. His internal compass was skewed – when he’d been running with Oikawa he hadn’t been paying attention to where he was going, and now that he was alone, he realized he didn’t know this stretch of land any better than he had before he’d set foot on it. But as he closed in on Kyoutani, it didn’t take much to figure out where they were going. The smell of the human was all Kyoutani had picked out, the sweat-and-flesh scent enough to undo whatever cautious progress they’d made towards bringing him back. But the human wasn’t alone – not some stray camper or late-night hiker. He was with Oikawa’s pack, the scents of all six wolves crisscrossing and mingling. Lev was with them, too, and faint and faded beneath it all was the smell of hogs, hardly a blip on Kyoutani’s attention with the human standing next to them. Who the hell had been stupid enough to bring a human here?

It didn’t matter. Iwaizumi sped forward, catching up to Kyoutani and pushing just a little farther ahead, taking the lead and forcing Kyoutani to follow. But Kyoutani was intent on his purpose, and with Oikawa’s blood in his veins, he was rejuvenated. He dodged to the side, trying to retake the lead, but Iwaizumi sped up, stopping him from passing and then forcing him to slow his pace, blocking him and slowing further every time Kyoutani tried to pass. Kyoutani growled in frustration, but rather than bring their progress to a crawl, he fell into step at Iwaizumi’s side, conceding the lead.

Once he was sure Kyoutani wasn’t going to dash off into the distance, Iwaizumi brought them back up to speed. After all, this _was_ the plan – human or no human, by now Lev would have baited the truck, and one way or another, they had to get Kyoutani into it so they could get him somewhere where he _wouldn’t_ go racing after the first person he smelled on the breeze. And as long as Kyoutani was following him, there was at least a chance he could steer him away from the human – though with any luck, Oikawa would have gotten whoever it was out of there before they made it back to the boat launch.

He reached out along their connection, searching for some answer or explanation, but he could only grasp at distant impressions – frustration, irritation, and underneath it fear like bile rising in the back of his throat. Whoever this human was, he was important to Oikawa, and Oikawa hadn’t expected him to be there. He drew back into his own mind and breathed in deep, pricking his ears and stretching out his own senses to try to get his bearings. They were still too far to pick up any conversation coming from the boat launch, and the scent of Oikawa's pack was a blurred mass of activity, crisscrossed over the same spot, except… Kyoutani rumbled with displeasure, pressing him to move faster, but Iwaizumi tipped his head back and scented the air again. One of Oikawa's wolves - Kyoutani's loudmouthed handler - really _had_ followed them into the woods. He hadn't gotten far, and from the distant sound of movement in the brush, he was nearby and already heading back to the launch himself.

Time for him to earn his keep.

Iwaizumi howled, making sure everyone knew damn well where they were and how fast they were coming. Kyoutani echoed him, keyed up and restless, bumping their flanks and snapping at nothing, anxious to move and ravenously hungry. When the rustling in the brush started moving towards them, faster, Iwaizumi howled again, making them both as easy to follow as he could.

Too soon, he could see artificial lights filtering through the trees - the bright headlights of one of Lev's trucks breaking up the darkness. But Oikawa was faster than both of them, and he'd delayed as much as he could. He should have had plenty of time to get the human out of the clearing before-

"-o tell you, it's too _dangerous_ for you-" Iwaizumi burst into the clearing a half second before Kyoutani, and had just that fraction of a moment to take in the scene: Oikawa puffed up like an irritated bird, lecturing a skinny, scruffy teenager who looked utterly unimpressed with the display. Matt had a hand on the kid's back, Lev was leading a pig off his truck with a rope, and-

Kyoutani emerged from the trees a half step behind him and Oikawa whipped toward the sound, putting himself between the kid and Kyoutani. He hardly looked human - fangs extended and eyes dilated to almost solid black, gaunt with rage and radiating threat. If anyone - _anyone_ \- made a move on this kid, it was going to be the last thing they did. But Kyoutani was _hungry_ , his focus split between the vampire waiting for an excuse to kill him and the ripe scent of the human just barely out of reach beyond him. Everyone else was frozen, caught between a rabid wolf and a very, very angry vampire with absolutely nothing they could do to help. It was too late to get the kid out of there; even if Oikawa had the wherewithal to scoop him up in his arms and zip off into the trees, Kyoutani was going to follow.

He _had_ to get Kyoutani's attention back, but all he wanted was the kid. Kyoutani was hunched low to the ground, hackles raised, growling out a threat, but at least he'd settled for cautiously sidestepping, looking for a way past Oikawa rather than advancing on him. Iwaizumi barked, demanding his attention, but Kyoutani was in no state to listen. He growled, frustrated. Because Oikawa had stopped to lecture the kid instead of getting him out of there, this gentle, sweet wolf he had just begun to know was going to die without a chance to get better. But there wasn't a choice; he wasn't going to let him kill a human. As Kyoutani backed in a slow circle, Iwaizumi sidestepped, putting himself between Kyoutani and Oikawa, ready to stop him by force if he had to. If only there were some way to get Kyoutani's attention, to break his focus for long enough to take him down without hurting him, maybe they could still-

The distant rustling in the trees resolved itself into a person as Yahaba emerged into the clearing just a few feet behind Kyoutani. And that was it. He had the same second of comprehension that Iwaizumi had before Kyoutani bristled, radiating anger, and turned on him. "Oh fuck me," he said, fumbling the rifle in his hands. Kyoutani bared his teeth, snarling and barking, pressing Yahaba back towards the trees. He leveled the barrel of the rifle right at Kyoutani's face, and Iwaizumi's heart stopped. This wasn't how this was supposed to happen.

He rushed forward, slamming into Kyoutani's side and driving him to the ground, out of the path of a bullet that… never came. Yahaba muttered something under his breath, raised the gun, and fired. The pig at the end of Lev's lead _shrieked_ and bolted, pulling free and racing down the dirt road, and even Iwaizumi's bulk couldn't keep Kyoutani from speeding after the sound of prey and the scent of fresh, almost-human blood.

Iwaizumi screamed down along his connection to Oikawa _gethimoutofheregethimoutofheregethimoutofhere_ , scrambling to his feet and chasing after Kyoutani, who had already nearly overtaken the fleeing pig. Hurt and wild as he was, Kyoutani was a born hunter. He was more ferocity than grace, moving like a tidal wave - unstoppable and fluid. But when he overtook his prey, he didn't go for the kill - he snapped his teeth, close and closer, making the pig squeal and scream and veer away from him, herding it so it turned directly into Iwaizumi's path and. Oh. Fuck.

Oikawa's wolves had been worried about what would happen when he shifted - that he would become something other than he was, that he would lose control. Oikawa had been afraid that once he turned, he wouldn't come back - that he'd be lost along the way, like Kyoutani. But this? This was the part that scared _him_ . He'd hunted before, taken down all kinds of game with packs of all sizes and species, but there was a reason he never hunted swine. Kyoutani had all but handed him the kill, though, and if he wanted him to keep following his lead, he was going to have to actually _lead_.

So he sprinted forward, closing the gap, and lunged, catching the pig's neck in his jaws and driving it to the ground. He bit down, cutting off the pig's squeal in a hot burst of blood, and his whole body shuddered, a bright pulse of relief as that first taste washed away the ache of his transformation, reminding him of every taxed muscle and joint as they eased all at once. He held the pig down until it died, trying to focus on his breathing. Kyoutani was already pacing, half-starved but beaten enough to respect Iwaizumi's right to first choice of meat.

Iwaizumi licked his chops and stood, pacing around the carcass and tearing into the underbelly while Kyoutani hovered closer. The meat was tender and succulent, and each bite made him feel stronger - rejuvenated and powerful and _free_ , the weight of the moon hanging over him lightening, but it also made the hunger left from fighting against its pull flare to life. When Kyoutani danced too close, Iwaizumi growled and bared his bloody teeth, driving him back. The pup could wait until he was done.

It wasn't long until he tried to jockey for position again, and this time when he did, Iwaizumi lunged at him, chasing him away with a snarl and a snap that was more than an idle threat. They were never going to make any progress if he didn't learn his manners. This time, Kyoutani laid down, head rested between his paws - watching, waiting while Iwaizumi ate his fill.

Something tickled the back of his mind, a feather-brush that sounded like _Hajime_. He chuffed, pushing it away because it didn't belong, but he drew back, licking his chops and making room for Kyoutani to take his place. As soon as he moved, Kyoutani rushed the carcass, hopping over it like the eager pup he was and digging in, nosing around to find what choice pieces Iwaizumi had left him.

They had an audience; Iwaizumi could feel eyes on them. But no one was moving to advance on them, and he was still hungry, so it didn't matter. While Kyoutani dug around in the pig's entrails, Iwaizumi tore strips of meat and muscle off its hindquarters, worrying his snout into the joints to break the beast apart. Kyoutani ate like he was starved, whimpering faintly in relief as he gorged himself on the meat. By the time he was glutted - too full to eat another bite no matter how badly he wanted to - Iwaizumi had mostly disassembled the rest of the carcass. He dropped one of the legs at Kyoutani's feet and picked the other up in his jaws, dragging it along the ground behind him.

Kyoutani fell in step at his heel, following him back down along the gravel path in the direction of the assembled crowd, towards the hulking semi-truck, up along the metal ramp, and into it. Kyoutani curled up and started worrying one of the exposed bones on the leg, but Iwaizumi was full and tired, ready to curl up and sleep off his meal. He dropped his haunch in the far corner of the truck, paced back to the loading ramp, rose up on his hind legs, gripped the cord on the truck's shuttered door with his teeth, and pulled it shut.

***

He woke once to the sound of voices, enough disruption to make Kyoutani whimper in his sleep, but they were far away and didn't matter. He cuddled closer, nuzzling down into Kyoutani's fur reassuringly, and drifted back into the quiet hum of a desert afternoon.

***

The next time he woke, he was on high alert. They were in a strange place and they weren't alone. He didn't remember moving (or being moved) but they were in a windowless room lit with soft yellow lights and filled with oversized cushions and pillows and blankets. Kyoutani was rigid at his side, thrumming with a growl at the open crack in the steel door at the far end of the room. It was Kyoutani's handler, who poked his head in tentatively, keeping mostly hidden behind the reinforced metal door. Iwaizumi started rumbling too, Kyoutani's anger and mistrust slipping easily under his skin, but they weren't quite mad enough to chase him out of the room - Iwaizumi curious and Kyoutani expectant.

When neither of the giant sleepy wolves in the room came rushing at him, Yahaba opened the door a little wider. "Hey," he said quietly. "Everything's okay. We're in Matt's clinic. Guess we’re finally cool enough to know about it." He shook his head. "It's a little after one in the afternoon, and everyone is sleeping in shifts until Oikawa-san comes back tonight. I uh, I didn't mean to wake you," he said, slipping inside. He had his hands held behind his back, which neither of them liked. "I just wanted to bring you Shaggy," he added quickly, recognizing the hum of mistrust and holding out a small stuffed dog - a squeaky toy that looked like it had been repaired and re-repaired within an inch of its life. Kyoutani didn't move to take it from him, and after a moment's hesitation, Yahaba sighed and walked over to them both, squatting down in front of Kyoutani and setting the dog between his paws. "I'm sorry I…" He frowned, expression twisting like his words tasted bad in his mouth. "I should never have chained you up. I thought you were gone, and I was scared, and I didn't know what to do, but I never should have done _that_. I'm sorry."

Kyoutani stared at him, stonily, for a long moment, then bent his head and bit down on the ratty squeaky toy. It looked like the squeaker had long since been chewed up and spit out, but he gnawed on just the right spot to make the toy let out a long, plaintive wail. Yahaba sighed and nodded, like that was answer enough, and stood, but when he started to walk away, Kyoutani chuffed with displeasure and stuck a paw out, putting the pad of his foot on the top of Yahaba's shoe, just short of tripping him. He stumbled a half step, looking down at them both and frowning. "Look, unless you're actually going to maul me this time, I don't know what to do besides leave. Oikawa-san said you can stay here, so after sunset I'll send word to the Bishop that I'm coming b-AAH!"

Kyoutani _growled_ and lunged forward, sending Yahaba stumbling backwards and knocking him on his ass. But the sound he made was more indignant than pained, and after a moment Iwaizumi realized that the attack he thought had been aimed for Yahaba's leg had actually landed on his…shoe? Kyoutani had Yahaba's foot caught between both his forepaws and was gnawing on his shoe like an untrained puppy.

"You're such an asshole," Yahaba said, but his voice cracked. He pulled his foot free of the shoe Kyoutani had decided was his new chew toy, then pulled off his other shoe and both his socks, tossing them aside and rubbing at his eyes. "Matt's gonna kill me for sneaking in here," he muttered, piling a few pillows against the wall. He started to sit down on them, but hesitated, meeting Iwaizumi's eyes. "You have a problem with me staying?" Outwardly, Kyoutani was still focused on disassembling Yahaba's shoe with his teeth, but Iwaizumi had felt the flair of panic when Yahaba had threatened to leave. He leveled his gaze on Yahaba, letting his thoughts sift through cool sand, parsing what it was Kyoutani was feeling. He was angry, still, but there was no worse place to go than back to the Bishop, and there was no worse loneliness than… ah.

He yawned, cartoonishly big, then made a show of settling back down to sleep. "Guess not," Yahaba muttered, leaning back against the wall and stretching out his legs, so the bottoms of his bare feet pressed against Kyoutani's stomach.

Iwaizumi breathed in the fragrant whisper of a garden at dawn mixed with the high-altitude chill of a desert morning and wondered if either of them knew they made each other's flowers bloom.

***

The third time Iwaizumi woke, it was to the sharp pain of the bones in his ankle disjointing. It was sudden and intense enough to snap him awake, but the disorientation was worse this time; he was used to being woken up by his transformation and used to waking up in unfamiliar places, but there were very, very few people he was used to waking up next to after a shift, and the two people in the room with him decidedly weren't among them. He was always so careful to stay away from anyone he might hurt during a shift, and these two were soft, and new, and fragile, and he did _not_ want to hurt them - not even a little and especially not by accident.

He tried to find his feet, but his limbs were already lax and loose with the impending change and he slipped, scuttling backwards away from them. Kyoutani blinked awake, letting out a questioning whine at Iwaizumi's absence, but Yahaba hushed him sleepily, soothing him with a hand on his flank and curling up against his side. But that was good. It was better if they stayed asleep - he didn't want them to panic, and Kyoutani didn't need a preview of what was inevitably going to happen to him, too. He inched his way back toward the far corner of the room, but it was slow going. The shift in his legs was a gradual, aching wrench instead of a quick pop, and he couldn't make his body move the way it was supposed to. He'd gotten most of the way to the corner when the bones in his knees started grinding together, his legs lengthening and reshaping at an agonizing crawl. Something in the joint snapped, a ligament pulled too tight, and he let out a pained yelp before he could stop himself.

Yahaba was instantly awake, upright and wide-eyed before Kyoutani could finish a big, sleepy yawn. "Oh fuck _me_ ," he said with feeling, scrambling to his feet and racing to the door. And that was good, too - the right instinct, to get as far away as possible. If he left, maybe they could move Kyoutani before he got mired in the worst of the turn and-

And Yahaba clanged shut the latch on the inside of the door and shouted through it, "It's starting! He's turning back! Don't open the door!"

What the _fuck_ . Why would he _stay_ here, why wasn't he trying to get _out_?  Iwaizumi growled and barked at him, trying to drive him back, but when he put his weight on his front paws, they didn't hold his weight, and he dropped flat to the floor with another pained yip. It was enough to make Kyoutani come the rest of the way awake, blinking up at him and sniffing inquisitively.

Before he could get far, Yahaba raced back to his side, grabbing Kyoutani by the scruff of his neck and holding him down. "Don't even think about it," he said, voice rumbling with authority. He was stronger than he let on, and though he was trying to be subtle about it, Iwaizumi could tell that Yahaba was angling himself between them, ready for a fight.

He let out a frustrated chuff, scrabbling his paws against the floor until he'd finally pushed himself all the way into the far corner. Who did Yahaba think he was protecting from who? As long as they kept their distance, he wasn't about to hurt either of them, and Kyoutani was straining against Yahaba's hold not to try to attack him, but with a low, helpless whine, like he could feel Iwaizumi's hurt in his own bones. But Yahaba was looking at him like he might attack at any moment, like he was going to overpower him and - what, run?

This was stupid. It was stupid, and it hurt, and he was mad, and he was tired, and he was suddenly filled with the weary, aching longing for home - the one that meant wheels turning and miles passing to try to put the thought behind him, that meant going somewhere else and shaking it off and waiting for the feeling to settle over him again like a shroud. It made him fight impatiently with the turn, stretching out limbs and and pushing, reaching, trying to force the parts to fall into place faster. He was tired, so _tired_ of people being afraid of him, of being just on the outside, of being the one leftover piece. It had felt different, for a moment, with Kyoutani, like maybe this pack - with whatever bond he and they shared with Oikawa - was the one where he might finally fit. But if it was just him and this kid who felt as out of place in his human skin as he did, it was only going to be more of the same.

He twisted, wrenching muscles and pushing them to tear so they could start reknitting a minute faster, shoving his wolf down and sealing it away, because the only way he was leaving this room was on two legs, and he desperately, desperately wanted to be _anywhere_ else. He writhed on the floor, whimpering in pain as his chest and shoulders started to reshape, his breathing turning shallow and ragged, but it was slow, so slow, all the not-quite-human meat that he'd eaten trying to coax his body to stay the way it was just a little bit longer.

The bones in his shoulder scraped together, the ball joint popping out of place as his forelegs started to reshape into arms. But he'd pushed it too fast - instead of sliding back into the socket, it ground along slowly, mismatched with the progress of his muscles. He let out a sharp cry of pain, scrabbling against the floor and breathing as hard as the tight cinch of his ribcage would let him. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the pain and focus on the arm, but he couldn't move it at all without agony shooting through him. He whined, helpless and hurt, trying to drag himself into a position that would be even just a little bit less painful.

He settled, stretched out, face down on the floor with his hurt shoulder pressed to a cold patch of the bare tile. He only had a moment to relish the chill of it before he felt a soft breath on his skin, then Kyoutani's cold snout nudging against his back. He got a flash of relief, and with it a picture of a thunderstorm over a desert, purple-black clouds blotting out the sky. Iwaizumi wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure him somehow that this would pass, but it hurt too much to move. He wheezed out a whine, forgetting that he was supposed to be afraid for Kyoutani's safety when the big shaggy wolf settled at his side, pawing at the ground next to his arm and barking back at Yahaba.

Iwaizumi peeked an eye open, expecting to find Yahaba afraid or angry - maybe bowled over from Kyoutani breaking free of his grip. But he was just… gaping. Kyoutani let out another quiet but insistent boof, and Yahaba seemed to wake up, scrambling over to them on his hands and knees. "Hey," he said, breathless and babbling as he reached out tentatively towards Iwaizumi. "You know, Ken always does this too. Can I- I'm just going to..." He put his hand on Iwaizumi's bicep like he was ready for an electric shock, but it didn't come - just a picture of purple and blue flowers trembling in a stiff wind, and another layer blunting the sharp pain of his transformation. Yahaba blinked, but shook off his surprise, gripping Iwaizumi's arm with both hands. "Alright, you ready? We're gonna pop this baby back in. One. Two." Yahaba wrenched his arm, and Iwaizumi let out a choked, breathless sound of pain as his shoulder slid back into place.

Feeling flooded unpleasantly back into his arm, but it didn't matter that it hurt. As soon as he could move it, he reached out and gripped Yahaba's shirt. It didn't make sense. Yahaba hadn't had Oikawa's blood - was only barely, technically a part of the pack - and _both_ of them had felt pain the first time they'd touched him, and yet… He pulled himself forward, butting his head against Yahaba's arm, and it was the same noiseless, crystal clear connection. He slumped, dizzy and overwhelmed at the sensation, and swallowed another muffled cry of pain as his spine started to realign itself one vertebra at a time.

"Oh, hell," Yahaba breathed, scooting closer and carefully lifting Iwaizumi's head to rest in his lap. "It's just going to be a little longer," he said, rubbing slow circles at the base of Iwaizumi's ears. "You're almost through."

Kyoutani pressed closer, nosing under Iwaizumi's arm and settling against his side, and Iwaizumi gripped his fur, closing his eyes and letting their storm drown out everything else.

***

The steady sound of rain filtered into Iwaizumi's dreams, bringing with it the familiar smell of earth. The tall trees in the woods behind his childhood home caught the downpour, filtering it to a soft haze that brought the forest to life, browns and greens bright and vivid. He always came back here after a turn, in dreams if not in person, drawn back to a memory of a memory of belonging, of a time when things had been simple and straightforward and there had been no limit on how far he could run and still be _home_. The woods were always empty, though, both in dreams and in person, the winding dirt path abandoned as it tapered into the shade of the overhanging trees.

He started down the narrow road, following it like a well-worn memory. He knew every rock and tree, had spent decades exploring every inch of their property, but in dreams he always followed the same route, a path carved in his bones as much as in the earth itself. But as he started to lope forward, paws light on the damp ground, he felt movement in the trees, someone darting just out of sight. He scented the air, but it wasn't anyone he knew - not his mother or father, not Daichi laughing when he realized Iwaizumi's revered forest was just a little spit of land out in the country, or Bo challenging him to race to the end and back while TK strolled after them, lawn chair in one hand and lemonade in the other.

His instinct wanted him to turn to face it, to rout out the intruder in his forest, but his dream-feet kept their course, following the same steps they always did, easy and sure and unperturbed. The more he ran, the more he realized the stranger didn't feel strange. It wasn't anyone he knew, but it felt familiar, like a long shadow cast behind him, mirroring his movements. And then he realized it wasn't one shadow but two running alongside him, just hidden by the veil of the treeline.

The rain was dying down, and in the quiet left as the leaves started to settle and the forest started to calm, he realized something was different. He could smell wildflowers on the air that had never been there before, alien in this place but comforting and unplacably familiar. The movement around him was multiplying, nebulous shapes coalescing into wolves he could almost see, glimpses of fur between tree trunks, flashes of bright eyes that caught the scant moonlight. And he realized the trees were changing, too - the familiar oak and maple interspersed with birch and ash and willow, bizarrely draped in Spanish moss and swamp vines.

But somehow it didn't make the forest feel less like home. He reached out, tentatively, to the wolves still keeping their distance. This was how it had always been when he ran with other wolves, separated from them by a few feet that could have been a mile. But maybe in a dream, at least, he could feel the unchained joy of running with a pack that he'd tasted with Oikawa darting through the trees above him. Even in a dream, it felt like too much to hope for, but when he called, the wolves came, filtering out of the trees and forming up around him, jostling him and nipping playfully, racing ahead and looping back on the winding dirt path that was no longer just wide enough for one.

And it wasn't like it had been running with TK's cats, or Aone's bears - the wolves were _his_ somehow in a way he'd never felt before, whispers of each of them brushing through his mind, not words or shapes but something more elemental than either, like his own thoughts heard in a quiet moment, or the whisper of a lover in the dark, only it wasn't one voice or two, it was all of them all at once murmuring thanks and reassurance, gratitude and relief and weariness and welcome, excitement and reservation and hope, the sound filling up a space that had always been there waiting for it, and it _ached_.

The dream ended where it always did, at the edge of the murky pond at the far end of his parents' property. But the foresty brownish blue-green of the water was tinged teal, bright in the moonlight and steaming hot. There were rings of color in the shallows and the mud, pure blue turning to bright green, then gold, then orange washing up on the small shoreline, reaching out like an invitation. And this - this wasn't the place that lay, hidden and quiet at the heart of him, but he knew it just as intimately, had been here and touched this spot, felt the heat of the water on his skin, because this deep, clear pool was the one that lived at the heart of Oikawa, a mirror of his own that called to him. And so he let the dream end the way it always did: he inched back, ran forward, and dove head first into the water, but this time his pack followed him down beneath the surface.

***

He woke with a sharp breath as the dream expelled him back into his own consciousness, but while the woods faded away around him, the whispering connected feeling didn't. He could still feel seven other minds brushing against his, and more than that, the weight of seven other people sprawled on top of him, at the bottom of a pile of people drifting in and out of sleep. He still had one arm draped over Kyoutani, was still splayed out on his stomach with his head rested on...someone's lap. But it wasn't just them. Someone was running fingers through his hair, cool and soothing in a way that reminded him of his mother. Someone else was sleeping with their head rested on his back, another person curled around one leg, and two more with their feet kicked up on him, one using his butt as a footrest, the other using _Kyoutani_ as a footrest and resting their heels on his bicep. It was the most awkward assembly of bodies he'd ever been in, and he was more relaxed and comfortable than he'd felt in his entire life.

They were all disjointed, a patchwork pack that had swelled and fragmented in the last few months, but he was the one harmonious note running through all of them. He was _wanted_ \- in a different way by each of them, some wanting him to heal, some wanting him to stay, some wanting him to run at their side, some wanting him between them and Oikawa, one wanting to know if the story about the yeti was true. But whatever their reason they were in agreement: he was one of them.

It was a feeling too bone deep to question, a steady murmur that ran through this sleepy pile like a hushed current, and it struck like lightning. They were all here, and they were touching him, and it didn't hurt, and he _felt_ them and it wasn't noisy, or uncomfortable, or wrong. For the first time, he felt like a puzzle piece fitting into place instead of a spare cog making a machine run off time. The bright, unfamiliar feeling swelled in his chest until he was nearly choking on it, something so sweet and good and longed for that it hurt, eyes burning and awed disbelief bubbling into a sob. He couldn't move, but he only wanted to so he could seek out more touch, more contact, be _more_ smothered by this pile of people - _his_ people.

But they felt it, too, and all he had to do was want it. He reached, and they answered, and when he asked, he _knew_ them even without introduction. Kunimi found his hand and pulled his arm close to cradle it; Kyoutani stretched out and nestled close, molding himself to the side of Iwaizumi's body; Watari and Yahaba jostled each other with their feet, shoving each other out of the way to make space for more contact; Kindaichi held Iwaizumi's leg tighter, nuzzling down into his hip; and Matt's fingertips joined Makki's, stroking his hair and his back, soothing and hushing him as he cried.

He let go of Kyoutani to wrap his arm around Matt and Makki, pulling them closer and anchoring himself to them, birch and ash and that same sweet smell of wildflowers. The two of them were awake - or at least more awake than everyone else - sitting side by side, Matt leaned back on one hand and Makki not-quite-dozing on his shoulder. There was so much he wanted to ask them, his mind dizzy with half formed questions - how long had they been here? how was this happening? what did it mean and what happened next? - but Makki just murmured a soft _shh_ , and silent reassurance flooded into him. Everything was going to be okay; he wasn't alone anymore, but he didn't have to decide what that meant; they were here for him, but understood in a way Oikawa didn't yet that his roots stretched far and wide, that his fear wasn't of being chained but of being cut off from the branches that gave him life, from the people who, drop by drop and day by day, had sustained his need to have something like a pack - understood that even this, now, couldn't change the shape of his tree in a day.

All he could do was radiate gratitude, hold them tighter, and cry until he was hollowed out and weary with it, the hard, empty core of loneliness opened up and tentatively filled with the inquisitive prodding of Oikawa's drowsing pack.

***

They all felt the sun set like someone had flipped on a bright overhead light, waking them with a shared intake of breath and a collective groan.

Yahaba muttered, "Fucking vampires."

Kunimi rolled over, pulling a blanket over his head and grumbling, "Great, this again," while Kindaichi fumbled for a lightswitch that wasn't anywhere near him.

"Rise'n'shine," Watari said, still half asleep as he rolled to his feet and stood, pulling his shirt down. "I'll go start dinner," he said through a yawn.

Iwaizumi grunted, gently pulling his arm back from Kunimi and rubbing his eyes. "Is it always like this?" he asked, voice gravelly and rough.

"It's supposed to be," Matt said cryptically. There was a sore spot there, a bruise he could feel beneath the surface but didn't want to prod.

Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa in the distance - the far end of their connection a few miles away, a muted pang of worry. "Why didn't he stay?" Iwaizumi asked, propping himself on one elbow. Yahaba's legs slid off his back, but Kindaichi was still cuddling his leg like it was his favorite teddy bear.

"Being in here makes him jittery," Makki explained. "And I think we all needed a break from the jittery vampire."

Iwaizumi dragged his hand down his face, rubbing at his stubble. "Does he ever…" he paused, choosing his words carefully. "Stop?"

Makki snorted. Matt shook his head. "Never." A sliver of a smile tugged at his lips. "Do you?" Iwaizumi took a breath to object, but Matt didn't give him the chance, reaching down and ruffling Kindaichi's hair. "C'mon cuddlebug, let him go."

Kindaichi snorted awake again, drawing back. When he realized where he was, he went rigid, then red, abruptly letting go of Iwaizumi's leg and scrambling backwards. "S- uh- s-sorry. I, uh, I'mgonnagohelpShinji," he said in a stuttering, blushing rush, getting to his feet and making a beeline for the door.

Iwaizumi pushed to his hands and knees and sat on his heels, pulling the blanket someone had draped over him around his waist and looking after Kindaichi as he disappeared through the door. "Wh-?"

"It's not you," Kunimi mumbled. "He's just handsy in his sleep. No one really minds, but we like to give him shit because he gets so flustered about it." He pulled his blanket over his head and around his shoulders like a shawl and stood, stepping over Iwaizumi and poking his toes into Yahaba's ribs. "C'mon, let's let the grownups talk."

Yahaba swatted him away, groaning, but Kunimi was faster, dodging him and poking him again. "Fuck off," he muttered, this time catching Kunimi's ankle and pulling just hard enough to put him off balance. "I know the routine. ~Go wait in the car, Yahaba~,"  he said in a mocking sing-song, sitting up and smoothing his hair down.

"Actually, you should stay for dinner," Matt said. Yahaba whipped towards him, surprised and now wide-awake. "We're going to put together a recovery plan for Ken later. I could really use your input."

Yahaba's mouth opened, closed. He gave a single nod. "Okay."

"Would you show him around while we finish up in here?" Makki asked Kunimi.

Kunimi rolled his eyes and heaved a put-out groan. "Ah yes, the grand tour. We'll start with the vending machine with the broken light and work our way around to the coffee machine that burns everything it touches."

"Sounds charming," Yahaba said, getting to his feet. "Lead the way."

Iwaizumi watched the two of them go. When the door clanged shut behind them, Matt asked, "How are you feeling?"

Iwaizumi chuffed a dry laugh. "Like I got turned inside out and back twice in a day and chewed on by an angry werewolf?"

"You were both pretty bloody when you came back," Makki said, scooting around Matt and kneeling down next to Iwaizumi. "How bad did he get you?"

"Not nearly as bad as I got him," Iwaizumi said, shifting and moving the blanket so Makki could see the bite marks on his thigh. "I'm fine, really," he said, but let Makki prod at the wound. It looked worse than it felt - and honestly he didn't feel nearly as bad as he'd expected to. "We both had Oikawa's blood in our system, so everything should be closed over, and…" He cleared his throat, dropping his gaze to Kyoutani and burying a hand in his fur. Kyoutani was still solidly asleep, but pushed back into his hand, a comforting weight at the edge of his thoughts. "Having y'all in here… It really helped. Thank you. I wasn't expecting..." He'd expected to wake up in Oikawa's lockbox - either alone or with Oikawa drawing him slowly and painfully back out of himself. Kyoutani whimpered in his sleep, and Iwaizumi pulled his hand back, shook the thought off. "Let's just say I appreciate the hospitality."

"And we appreciate your help," Matt said, rubbing his knuckles lightly on the top of Kyoutani's head, soothing him. Before Iwaizumi could object, he said, "None of us could have done what you did for him. Not safely. You're the reason that he's alive and no one got hurt." He paused, then added, "Well, no one but the two of you, at least."

"You said you're going to make a recovery plan?" Iwaizumi said, ducking past the praise.

Makki nodded. "If we can control his diet, we can make the transition go a little more smoothly."

"Any idea when he's going to start turning back?" Iwaizumi asked.

"That's why I want to talk to Yahaba," Matt said. "He'll know Ken's limits better than we do. But probably some time early next week."

"I'd like to be here when it happens," Iwaizumi said, reaching out to smooth his hand down along Kyoutani's flank. "If that's alright."

"I don't see why not," Matt said. "We were kind of expecting you'd still be in here with him anyway." There was a subtle edge to it - unease that wasn't quite mistrust.

Iwaizumi chewed his lip, realizing how the events of the night before must have looked to a group of people who only barely knew him by reputation. Not only had he turned against the moon, he'd eaten enough pork to keep a normal shifter stuck in their second skin for days, if not enough for them to lose themselves permanently. "I know what happened last night must have seemed reckless, and I'm sorry if I scared y'all, but I wouldn't have done it if I thought there was a chance I wouldn't come back from it, or that I might hurt someone. I spent a lot of time as a wolf off-moon as a kid, and I've had a lifetime of practice controlling my shift and keeping my head on a turn."

"You're certainly... unique," Makki said.

Iwaizumi snorted. "So I hear." He shook his head, tangling his hands in Kyoutani's fur, watching his fingertips trace the outlines of his ribs instead of looking at Matt or Makki. "What happens next?"

"You tell us," Matt said.

Iwaizumi ducked his head. "No, no telling. It's one thing to get a warm welcome from y'all and another to…" He closed his eyes, focusing on Kyoutani's desert, the hum of insects and a single distant trill of birdsong. The pack was too big already, running on a patch of land too small to suit them, Oikawa's authority was on shaky ground, their hierarchy was in disarray, and the only claim he had to be a part of it was that he really, really wanted to. "I won't impose, and I don't want to unsettle things more than they are, but I'd like to run with you, if you'll have me."

"I don't think that's too much to ask," Matt said. "Next full moon, see how it goes?" He held out a hand, and Iwaizumi clasped his forearm. This time, it didn't hurt, bright morning light burning away the fog in Matt's birch forest, guarded but hopeful.

Iwaizumi's throat was tight. "Why is this- what changed?" he asked, forcing himself to let go of Matt's arm.

Matt shook his head. "I don't know. The only thing I can think of is that we renewed our bond with Oikawa last night."

Of course it was some kind of vampire fuckery. But if it meant being able to have _this_ , he didn't care. "You've really never-" Makki blurted, then stopped himself. Iwaizumi raised an eyebrow, and Makki asked, quietly, "You've never had a pack?"

"No," Iwaizumi said. "But that doesn't mean you have to let me in yours if I don't-"

Makki flicked his ear, and Iwaizumi winced. "You're both idiots," Makki said. " _See how it goes_ , like everyone isn't half in love with him already." He put his hand on Iwaizumi's shoulder. "Honey, you have a place with us if you want it, plain and simple. And not because you helped us tonight, or because Oikawa will pout if we keep you out of the club, or because we're scared you're going to beat us up. You're one of us if you want to be."

Iwaizumi fought back the lump in his throat, wrapping Makki up in his arms and pulling him into a hug, wildflowers and sunshine blooming on his skin. He tried to remind himself that they still didn't really know each other, but with him flooding through his mind clear as thought, it wasn't easy. Makki rubbed a hand soothingly down his back, hummingbirds and fluttering leaves, and Iwaizumi nuzzled down into his neck, smelling wolf musk beneath the perfume of his flowers, and beneath that, the faintest whisper of Oikawa beneath his skin. He forced himself to pull away, swiping at his moist eyes. "I'm sorry, I…" He laughed thickly, sniffled. "Thank you."

"You're going to have to deal with Oikawa on your own, though," Matt said. "We've done enough babying him for a lifetime."

Iwaizumi bobbed his head, nodding and rubbing his eyes dry. "I know," he said. They were all connected - there was no getting around it - but he didn't want his budding relationship with Oikawa to define his place in their pack. "God, I can _feel_ him worrying over me."

"What are you going to do?" Makki asked.

"Talk to him?" Iwaizumi breathed a tired laugh. "I don't know. I'll count myself lucky if he didn't buy a house down the road for me while I was out." He shook his head. "I know he wants me to stay, and I know he doesn't understand why I can't. He's my mate, so we're going to have to find a way to make it work, but I'd just maybe like to have a conversation with him with all our clothes on before he picks a china pattern."

Matt snorted. "Good luck with that."

"We have a spare room if you need a place to crash while you're in town," Makki said. "But no hank, pank, or bloodletting on granny's quilt."

"I appreciate the offer," Iwaizumi said. "But I don't know..." When he'd be leaving, let alone when he'd be back. He'd made the joke, but some small part of him was genuinely afraid that Oikawa would insist on keeping him here. He hadn't meant to do what he did, and Iwaizumi didn't think he would now that he knew he could, but the possibility was there: if he wandered too far, or for too long, Oikawa could force him to come back, or worse. So much had happened so fast that he felt vaguely disembodied, like he'd already been cut off from his life outside Oikawa's sphere of influence. "I don't even know what day it is," he said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I don't even know if I still have a _job_."

"One thing at a time, sugar," Makki said, giving him a reassuring pat on the arm. "Have dinner with us, get your strength back, and then go talk to him. He's not as unreasonable as he seems, if you put your foot down."

"We should probably also find you something to wear," Matt said, nodding at the blanket laid haphazardly across Iwaizumi's lap.

Iwaizumi closed his eyes. "He left my pants in the woods, didn't he?"

"We all keep spare clothes here. I'm sure you can fit into something of mine," Makki said, ignoring the question because it didn't really need to be answered. Shame. He'd liked that outfit.

"Baby, even if you could fit him in one of your shirts, he'd flex right out of it," Matt said.

Makki looked affronted. "Don't be ridiculous. We're about the same size. Aren't we?" he asked, turning to look at Iwaizumi. "What size are you?"

Iwaizumi looked Makki up and down, then to Matt for help. "Well, you're definitely taller than me," he conceded.

Matt didn't quite stop himself from laughing, and Makki punched him in the arm, standing in a huff. "I'm going to go get something for him to try on," he said, marching toward the door and pulling it open. He started out blindly into the hall, but bounced back with a surprised, "Oh."

Kunimi stepped past him, peeking inside. He was carrying a bundle of clothes in his arms, which he held out to Iwaizumi. "Figured you might not want to be wandering around naked all night," he said. "We don't really have anything in your size except scrubs," he explained as Iwaizumi rifled through the pile. "But Shinji thought you might fit in one of his, I dunno, running shirts? And I put in a pair of Nike slippers, and some of Taka's sweat pants that might fit, because at least they aren't like pink or duck print or whatever." He was already leaving before he'd even finished his explanation, but he stuck his head back in to add, "Oh, and dinner's almost ready, but we're eating in here cuz I don't feel like setting up the table." And then he was gone, the door clanging shut behind him.

***

The clothes Kunimi found him fit (though the hoodie that Makki insisted he try on didn't - he couldn't even fit his arms into it, much to Matt's amusement and Makki's chagrin), and by the time he finished dressing, Watari had announced that dinner was ready and everyone had started piling back in with bowls and platters laden with food - including, surprisingly, the kid that had been at the boat launch the night before, who barely gave him a second glance before plopping down on a pillow and stuffing his face full of pasta.

The room was not well-suited to a picnic by any stretch of the imagination, which gave lie to the "setting the table" excuse almost as fast as Watari sneaking Kyoutani a piece of garlic bread. Apparently there weren't enough hard feelings for everyone to leave him in here alone, even just to eat. Yahaba used Kyoutani's side as a TV tray, sneaking him pieces of chicken from his bowl full of (creamy, delicious, home-made) fettuccine. The accommodations should have been awkward, but the food (oh, god, the food) and the company were good enough to make up for it. Iwaizumi mostly stayed quiet, learning these new people by listening to them interact - Kindaichi complaining about work, Kunimi telling a long story about his adventures in trying to get a repairman out to the hotel, Watari patiently explaining to Yahaba that fettuccine made with a roux was an atrocity, Matt and Makki wearing twin, distant expressions that meant a conversation passing between them that no one else could hear.

But despite his attempts to blend into the background, the kid from the boat dock was staring at him fixedly, stuffing food in his mouth like he was half starved but never breaking his gaze. Kindaichi was just winding himself up toward another waitstaff story when the kid said through stuffed cheeks, "Hey, arent 'ou supposha be a wolf still?"

The room went quiet, eyes shifting hesitantly toward the elephant in the room - him. He glanced between them, chewing and swallowing a bite of garlic bread. "What, and miss dinner?"

Watari barked out a, "Ha!" and laughter rippled through the rest of them, some subtle tension cut, changing the atmosphere. He hadn't noticed it before it was gone - or, at least, was so used to being the odd man out that it hadn't bothered him more than usual. But after that he kept getting drawn into the conversation - confirming or denying rumors they'd heard about "the Wolfborn," trading embarrassing anecdotes and factoids about Oikawa, talking shop with Makki (who it turned out was a long-haul FedEx driver). Takeru and Watari even recounted their version of the night he'd met Oikawa - Makki barely stepping in to point out that the kid _was_ licensed to drive A- and B- class trucks when Iwaizumi's eyes went wide at the idea of Oikawa putting a minor behind the wheel of his work vehicle.

"We went to Build-A-Bear and made the whole pack while we waited for you to drop off the pickup," the kid said, bubbling with enough enthusiasm to do away with the disaffected, put-out teen front. "Here, I'll show you," he said, popping up and dashing out of the room.

"I didn't realize Tooru had a kid," Iwaizumi said, a little winded both by the idea of it and the kid's sheer presence. He'd been surly and sulky in front of Oikawa the night before, but with the pack he had a big, easy smile and a bigger laugh.

"That's because they don't realize it, either," Makki said.

"It's 'annoying uncle Tooru' and 'that brat,'" Matt explained.

There was something subtly different about the way they said it, oddly harmonious in a way that made him wonder if the two of them hadn't switched places, slipping under each other's skin while he hadn't been looking. But before he could question it, the kid reappeared in the doorway, holding up two stuffed wolves, one to either side of his face, grinning. One of them was a dead ringer for Kyoutani, and the other looked… suspiciously like "Shaggy" the chew toy. "Pretty cute, right?"

"Hell of a likeness," he said, cutting eyes at Yahaba, who was avoiding him as well (and as snootily) as Oikawa when he wanted to pretend he didn't know what he was talking about. "And good on you for milking the corporate card. Somehow, it didn't occur to me that he actually made someone make that drive in the middle of the night, and then wait around for the car. He sort of made it sound like it would all happen by magic."

"Yeah," Kunimi muttered, "he tends to gloss over the people that actually make the magic happen."

Iwaizumi grunted. That much wasn't a surprise, but… "Anyway, I'm sorry for the trouble."

The kid shrugged, a hint of the bored teenager showing through. "When he calls, I answer."

The words sent a shiver down Iwaizumi's spine, a fingertip plucking the golden thread in the center of his chest, making the sound of Oikawa's worry on the other end reverberate through him. He grunted and put a hand to his chest, rubbing knuckles against the tingling spot. He wondered, mildly, if there was an over-the-counter antacid that worked on vampires. "Speaking of," he said. "I hate to eat and run, but-" He grunted, closing his fist on the fabric of the front of his shirt and taking a steadying breath. Now that the worry-feeling had his attention, it was stronger, tugging - not demanding or insistent, but like a dog that didn't know better, jumping, fussing, whining for his attention. It was an effort of will not to already be on his feet and moving out the door. He grit his teeth for a long moment, eyes closed, quieting the anxious pull, then said, "Matt, can you give me the keys to his bike? He wants me to drive it back to the hotel."

"It's Issei," he said. Iwaizumi flicked his eyes up to him, questioning. "Oikawa has his nicknames for all of us, because he has such a strong pull over our wolves, but that's for him, not for _us_. Here, I'm Issei."

"Takahiro, or Taka," Makki said.

"I'm Takeru," the kid chimed in.

"Shinji."

"Akira."

"Yuu. Yuutarou, actually, but, uh, just Yuu is fine."

"Shigeru," Yahaba said. "And Kenta-" he stopped, looked down to Kyoutani for confirmation, and said, "And Ken."

Iwaizumi looked between them, surprised and pleased in a way he couldn't put his finger on. He cracked a small smile. "You can call me Hajime."

"HA!" Makki - Takahiro shouted, pointing wildly at Matt - Issei. "I _told_ you only rednecks call him Jimmy!"

Iwaizumi let out a startled laugh, and Issei ignored him entirely. "Come on," he said, getting to his feet, "I'll walk you out."

"Alright," Iwaizumi said. But instead of standing, he knelt down next to Kyou- Ken, scooping his head in his hands and rubbing his cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm gonna be back before you start to turn, okay? I promise, I'm gonna sit with you through the whole thing, okay?" Ken chuffed and licked Iwaizumi's face, and Iwaizumi laughed, roughing up his head and pressing a kiss to the top of it, murmuring down into his fur, "You're gonna be okay. I'll be back in a few days." He gave Ken's head one last tousle, then stood. "I guess I'll be seeing y'all sooner rather than later. But thanks for…" He hesitated. "Everything, really." He gave a small nod and a quiet "G'night," stepping over a pile of blankets and following Matt to the door. But he didn't even get past the threshold before the somber worrying-over-Ken broke into a chorus of cheers and jeers behind him - a couple extra-rednecky "Jimmy"s tossed in with goodnights and suggestions about how he should "handle" Oikawa. He grinned to himself, trailing after Issei and pulling the door shut behind them.

The hallway outside wasn't at all what he expected. The room he'd been in had been all soft edges and warmth, more a den than a cell or a dungeon, but outside it looked more or less like a doctor's office - or at least a doctor's office after hours and maybe underground, with reinforced steel doors running up and down either side of the hall. Then again, they'd been talking about treatment plans, and dressing him in scrubs, and Lev _had_ called him _the Doc_ with the same uncanny weight as people called him _the Wolfborn_. "What is this place?" he asked as Issei led him down the hall towards a messy, makeshift-looking nurse's station.

"We run a free uninsured clinic for humans upstairs," Issei explained, leaning over the desk and grabbing a set of keys off a hook behind it. The station was littered with a long night - day's - worth of miscellaneous waiting-around detritus - a half-eaten cup noodle, crumpled up takeout bags, a handful of novelty coffee mugs. "Down here, we treat shapeshifters. Mostly wolves, but not always," he said, picking up one of the abandoned coffee mugs and sniffing it. He wrinkled his nose at the smell, but took a sip anyway.

"You get a lot of patients?" Iwaizumi asked. There weren't a _lot_ of rooms down here, but more than he could imagine them filling on any given night. With all the cushions and cloth, they weren't the kind of rooms you'd rent to someone to ride out the full moon, either.

Issei drained the dregs of his stale coffee with a grimace, then gave a small shrug. "Because of the way the Bishop runs things, we end up with a lot of people like Kyoutani on the loose." He set his mug down, nodding for Iwaizumi to follow him up the flight of stairs behind the desk. "A lot of our patients are hurt, confused. Some runners. People who need help. We do what we can."

Iwaizumi nodded, brow furrowed. It made sense. If the vampires here cultivated flesh-eaters, it was inevitable that some would break loose; that Oikawa's pack was scooping them up and rehabilitating them explained why the problem wasn't epidemic - or at least meant not all the wolves were being executed when their usefulness wore out. "That can't be easy," he said. "Keeping this place under the radar."

"We're an urban legend," Issei said, leading him out of the stairwell and into a nondescript hallway. "The kind of rumor no one _really_ believes until they see it for themselves. And we do our best to make sure that doesn't happen." Which, fair enough; it wasn't like he didn't know all too well what that was like. The rooms lining either side of the hall were mostly open or doorless - a few small exam rooms, one room packed full of dentistry equipment and an exam chair, one room filled with towering shelves of patient files and paperwork. He led him out past the front desk and into the main waiting room, but stopped at the double glass doors that led outside. "I know you have connections - loyalties - to people all over the country, maybe the world," Issei said, putting himself between Iwaizumi and the door. "I respect that. But this place… whatever trouble comes with you, don't bring it here."

"You do important work," Iwaizumi said solemnly. "I wouldn't jeopardize that."

Issei stared him down, hard, for a long, silent moment, then tossed him the keys to Oikawa's motorcycle. "We'll give you a call when Kyoutani's on the mend. Maybe make plans for next month?"

Iwaizumi nodded, reaching into his pocket. "Let me just put your number in my-" He closed his eyes. These weren't his pants, and his phone wasn't in them.

"Oikawa has it," Issei said. "And he'll tell you how to get in touch."

"Not that I don't trust him," Iwaizumi said, crossing back to the welcome desk. He grabbed a pen on a chain and scribbled his number on a piece of scrap paper on the desk, then handed it to Issei. "Just in case."

Issei took the paper from him and breathed a tired laugh. "Good luck with him. I really hope you two can work things out."

"Any words of wisdom?"

Issei gave the barest shrug, unlocking the door to the parking lot and pushing it open. "He's a cat. Try not to step on his tail."

***

Iwaizumi didn't know this part of the city, had never touched the surface streets in Baton Rouge, but it didn't matter - Oikawa was a bright beacon leading him right back out of the city and onto the highway. Despite its appearances, Oikawa's bike had a hell of a motor, and at the speed he was going, the night air was a cool kiss on his bare skin. He pulled off the highway and along the winding road to the hotel, but when he pulled into the lot, all the lights were off - the sign, the front entrance, everything but a small glow coming from around the back corner of the building. He drove past Bo's Jeep still waiting in the same parking spot and rolled slowly to an open garage in time to see Oikawa sliding out from under the engine of a classic Impala.

He killed the engine and put down the kickstand on the bike, climbing off it and heading toward him, and this time there was nothing magical about the pull in his heart. Oikawa had his sleeves rolled up, grease on his hands and smeared on his cheek, a crease of worry pressed between his brows. Oikawa was wiping his hands on a rag, swimming with unvoiced questions, but before he could give shape to any of them, Iwaizumi scooped him into a hug, pulling him tight against his chest.

Weariness and relief hit him in a rush, finally coming home after racing from emergency to emergency, and the feeling was almost unbearably sweet. He held Oikawa tighter, lifting him off his feet and burying his face in his neck, wanting to wrap him up and hold him as close as possible, even though he felt like he might drop at any moment and sleep for the next thousand years.

"I'm sorry," Oikawa said, his voice small and soft, fingertips digging into Iwaizumi's shoulders almost bruising-hard.

"I'm okay," he said. He could smell Oikawa's pack moving through his veins, a strange jumble of scents mingling with Oikawa's blood that was still somehow familiar. "I told you I'd come back soon."

"Matt said you might not come back at all," Oikawa breathed, burrowing into him. Iwaizumi picked him clean off the ground, holding him to his chest, and Oikawa let him, clingy and still fussing and fluttering on the inside. It took Iwaizumi a minute to pin down the feeling - to recognize what it was that had Oikawa so worked up: guilt. He felt _guilty_ , responsible for everything that had happened, and bad about it in a way that he wasn't used to. "I-"

"It's okay," Iwaizumi said, hiking Oikawa closer and threading fingers into his hair, pressing tender kisses to his neck and cheek.

But this time Oikawa drew away, cupping Iwaizumi's face in his hands. He was still wearing that worry-crease in his forehead, radiating weariness. "It's not okay," he said, not even able to muster a tired smile, his regret like ice water sliding down Iwaizumi's skin. "This was my fault, all of it. I've been neglecting my pack, and…" He sighed, knocking his forehead into Iwaizumi's. "None of this should have happened, and I'm not going to let it happen again. If you hadn't been here-"

"But I was," Iwaizumi said gently. "I am. And I will be." Oikawa peeked at him, searching his face, and Iwaizumi met his gaze, letting himself feel the pull and letting Oikawa's mind brush against the truth of his desire. "I'm going to run with your pack on the next full moon," he said, whispering tendrils of steam feeling out the shape of what he wanted while he tried to muster the nerve to say it out loud. Oikawa tilted his head, slow surprise dawning on his features, and Iwaizumi breathed out. "I want you to bind me."

He could feel the surge of _want_ roll through Oikawa, intense enough to give him pause - to make him check that the desire had really come from Iwaizumi and not just spilled over onto him. He swallowed. "Tonight?"

Iwaizumi gave a small nod, letting Oikawa down to his feet, because this was important. "I want to do this right. With you, with your pack. I don't want there to be any room for me to cause trouble, and… I'm not going anywhere. I want to be able to come see you, to stay here without…" Everything that had happened spelled trouble coming - Oikawa's recovery, Ken's transition back to being human, he and Shigeru being brought into the fold, even Lev driving out there for them had been a risk. "I don't want to give the Bishop an excuse. If we play by the rules, we can spit in his face and there won't be a damn thing he can do about it."

Oikawa was looking at him like he wasn't quite sure if he should kiss him or check him for a fever. "What in the world happened while I was asleep?"

Iwaizumi ducked his head, taking a small step back. "Everyone in your pack can touch me. Even the kid, Kindaichi. I…" He shook his head. "I don't know if it's because of you, or us, or what, but it's never happened before, ever." He lifted his gaze to Oikawa's face again. "I found my mate, and a pack that accepts me, and I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize that, even if-" He closed his eyes, gut balking at the words before he could say them. "Even if it means I have to stay."

"Oh, puppy," Oikawa said, reaching up to smooth a thumb along Iwaizumi's brow. "I know you can't stay."

Iwaizumi's eyes snapped open, shocked down to his toes - relief and surprise and disbelief hitting him hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs. "What?"

Oikawa reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone - Iwaizumi's phone - and flipped it open. "Have a place for you at dinner Thursday, will you be in town?" he read. A few clicks, Oikawa opening a new message. "Haven't heard from you, everything okay?" Click click. "Plans for next full moon?" Tap tap. "Where are you? We're worried." Click click. "You're overdue for a touchup and Aone is looming. Call him, asshole." Oikawa turned the phone and handed it to him. "Those are just the ones I saw coming in, but there were already more than a dozen texts when I woke up."

Iwaizumi frowned at his phone. He'd been neglecting it for days, and while Bo and TK were the most pressing people who would have gone looking for him when he vanished after the full moon, it wasn't a surprise that now, days later, his absence was going noticed. He scrolled through the messages, frowning. Anyone and everyone he would - _should_ \- have called from the road in the last five days had left at least one check-in message. There was even a missed call and voicemail from Aone, who probably wouldn't pick up a phone to call 911 if his house was on fire. He played the message and put the phone to his ear. The recording was a solid ten seconds of gravelly silence and ambient bar sound, followed by a frustrated rumble and the loud sound of the phone hitting the cradle. He snapped the phone shut and rubbed his forehead. Aone was going to kill him. Three turns in a week when he already needed a touch up… his tattoo was probably barely visible by now. "Shit."

But the itchy need to race to his car and hit the road wasn't there; the need to fix what was in front of him overwhelmed it. He lifted his gaze to Oikawa, suddenly exhausted down to his bones, ready for the other shoe to drop. "They're your pack," Oikawa said carefully.

Iwaizumi gave a small nod. "As close as I've ever had, until now."

"And your...partners," he said, tiptoe weight on a cracked eggshell.

"They're my people," Iwaizumi said, too tired to let this turn into a fight. "Most of them, I'll drop in for dinner, or meet up for drinks, or call them from the road, and I'll tell them I met my mate, and I found a pack, and they'll congratulate me, and that'll be it, no explanation needed. Just friends. Family."

"And the rest?"

The conversation was a sour taste in both their mouths, but they _had_ to have it, and he could _feel_ Oikawa trying - forced calm, a little closed, but _trying_. "I've been with the Houston packmaster since before he met his mate. Our relationship has always been open, but even when things changed, it was important enough to work through, to stay together. They've already said they'll back off because-" because as far as they knew, Oikawa hated them both enough to try to kill him and make him attack Bo, "-because they know how you feel about...sharing me. But giving them up would be like you cutting yourself off from Matt and Makki. You could get the blood from someone else, but it's not really about that."

Oikawa swallowed, locked tight and almost unreadable. "Anyone else?"

"Someone who used to run a pack in Oklahoma," he said. "I haven't heard from him in almost a year, and he might not even be alive still, but when - if - he comes back, I don't want it to be a surprise."

"That's all?" Iwaizumi gave a small nod. "No surprise additions or-" Iwaizumi shook his head. Oikawa huffed. After a too-long pause, he said, "I hate them."

Iwaizumi cracked a smile despite himself. "I know."

"I'm not going to cut you off from…" He waved helplessly at the phone in Iwaizumi's hand. "But it's…" He sighed. "We'll try to make it work. _I'll_ try."

"That's all I ask," Iwaizumi said, reaching to take Oikawa's hand. "And I'm going to try, too." He brushed his thumb along the backs of Oikawa's fingers. "I'm going to take you out to dinner," he said, and Oikawa breathed a tired laugh, turning away from him. "And I'm going to take you to the movies," he promised, drawing Oikawa back and raising his hands to his lips, brushing kisses against his knuckles, "And we're going to make out in the back row." Oikawa was smiling for real, a lock coming open, though he was a little peeved about it. He started kissing his way up along Oikawa's arm, each kiss punctuating an image he could already see so clearly in his mind. "And then we're going to go to a diner, and we're going to drink coffee together, and you're going to tell me about the first time you saw the movie, and I'm going to hang on your every word, and then we're going to sneak out and have sex in the back seat of your muscle car…" He kissed Oikawa's neck, rested his forehead against his temple, whispered, "And in the dark I'll tell you how much I love you."

Oikawa shivered against him, turning and pressing his lips to Iwaizumi's, soft and unexpectedly sweet. Iwaizumi leaned into him, breathing a contented sigh, followed blindly as Oikawa led him into the garage - motor oil and sawdust and muggy stagnant air - not realizing where they were going until Oikawa backed himself up against the side of his car, pulling Iwaizumi against him and kissing him harder. When Iwaizumi came up for air, Oikawa gasped, hair tousled and lips swollen. "Promise you'll call."

Iwaizumi laughed. "Until you're sick of me," he said, cupping Oikawa's face in his hands and planting a big smooch on his lips. "I promise."

"You really want this?" Oikawa asked, hands in his hair keeping Iwaizumi back enough to see his face.

The weight he said it with told him that _this_ didn't mean _to fool around in the back seat_ , but it took a moment to register what he _did_ mean, that he was about to bind himself to someone he'd only known a handful of days, but who he was going to be with, maybe forever. It sobered him, but when he looked inside for the part of him that was hesitating, the part that thought this was a bad idea, the part that wanted to get away, run, leave - it wasn't there. "I do," he swore.

Oikawa opened the door of his car and slid into it, sprawling out on the back seat, propped up with one elbow and holding his arm out to Iwaizumi, beckoning for him to join him. The car was absolutely not big enough for either one of them, let alone both of them, but as he ducked into the back seat, sliding over and straddling Oikawa's lap, he was pretty sure there was absolutely nothing in the world he wanted more than this - him, right here, just exactly like this. "Show me your arm," Oikawa murmured, smoothing a hand up Iwaizumi's chest, drawing him down on top of him.

But Iwaizumi stopped short, shaking his head. "No," he said. "Not for this." Oikawa's brow furrowed in confusion, and Iwaizumi sat back, tipping his head back and baring his throat.

Oikawa sucked in a breath. "Are you sure?" he asked, even as he sat up, coiling his arms around Iwaizumi's waist and shoulders, fangs lengthening, filled with a hunger Iwaizumi could taste on the tip of his tongue.

"Yes," he breathed, a shiver racing through him. "I'm yours, Tooru. If you call, I'll answer."

"Do you swear it?" Oikawa asked, formal, voice heavy with power and meaning.

"I swear it," he answered, and repeated, "If you call, I'll answer."

Oikawa bit, and Iwaizumi moaned, hands grasping for purchase, holding on tight as his wolf flooded out of him like a geyser, crashing into Oikawa and linking with him, fur and vines, blood and water, every microscopic part of him fusing invisibly with Oikawa. But he didn't drink deeply, not enough to sate himself, not enough to disorient him, just enough to catalyze… "If you call, I'll answer," Oikawa said, laying his head back, baring the ghost of marks Iwaizumi had already left on his skin - this time not prey but a partner.

"Do you swear it?" Iwaizumi asked, feeling his wolf reverberate through the words, something ancient and primal waking beyond his understanding.

"I swear it," Oikawa said. "If you call, I'll answer."

Iwaizumi leaned in and bit, the first thick, sweet tang of blood that touched his tongue sealing a pact, a weight in his gut that anchored him, tethered them together, left them doubly bound. He pulled away with a gasp, just a taste of the promise in Oikawa's blood headier than the finest liquor, holy as a sip of communion wine. It left him trembling from head to toe and breathing hard, upright only for Oikawa's arms around him, holding him close and steadying him, soothing him.

Clearer than ever, he could feel Oikawa's mind probing at him, searching for reluctance, regret, panic, worrying into the cracks of him, afraid that pulling him closer would be what drove him away. But it didn't feel like a mistake; the nebulous shape of Oikawa was clearer, crisper, the tangled layers of his thoughts and petty deceptions and posturing unwound and made transparent, revealing someone who was smaller and softer than he seemed, hardened by a lifetime of fighting tooth and claw for everything he'd ever had.

But this. This, at least, deserved to be easy. It wasn't, yet, but neither was it too late to hope that it could be. He drew back and brushed Oikawa's hair out of his eyes, lips touching lips and blood touching blood. "If you miss me, call. On the phone first."

Oikawa nodded, eyes closed, tip of his tongue tasting lips, tasting blood. "If I call you, come back to me."

Iwaizumi nodded, the promise not written in his blood, not branded on him with Oikawa's power, but no less sincere. "We're going to do this right," he repeated. "No more putting off phone calls."

"Mm, communication," Oikawa hummed, drawing Iwaizumi closer and kissing him again, pulling him down as he laid himself out along the back seat. And Iwaizumi followed, considering the possibility that maybe, just maybe, they'd done enough talking for one night.

***

It had been years since he'd made out with someone in the back seat of a car like this - maybe, actually, since he'd been a teenager. Despite the cramped space, it wasn't awkward and fumbling, but it had the same thrill of newness, of exploration, as they slowly tested the limits of their bond, slipping beneath and between each other's skin, listening and communing, finding just the right way to touch, to meld, to fit together.

Every inch of his skin was alive, Oikawa open and responsive beneath him, wanting nothing more than this - to touch, to reassure, to bond in a way that was soft and slow and gentle - a wordless introduction as they acquainted themselves with each other. It wasn't a replacement for everything that was still left unsaid, for the concrete things they still didn't know about each other and would have to learn gradually, but for the moment it was more important, a balm on the wound of the last few days and a hope - a shared want - for something new and better.

They shed clothes a piece at a time, seeking more skin, more touch, more closeness, any barrier between them too much for this moment. But for the first time between them, baring skin didn't build heat but slowed them down, deep kisses drawing back to lingering brushes of lips, fingertips on hips, breath on skin, until Iwaizumi was reduced to a lazy weight on top of Oikawa, breathing slow and listening to his own pulse beat beneath Oikawa's skin.

They drowsed together, sharing invisible intimacy, tentative and new like shy linked fingers, taking respite in each other from a very, very long week.

It was the sound of a phone ringing that finally broke the spell, an hour or an age later. Iwaizumi grunted blearily, grabbing at the discarded clothes he could reach, but it was Oikawa who found the phone first. "Spitfire?" he asked, reading the contact name on the screen without picking up.

Iwaizumi groaned, hiding his face in Oikawa's stomach. " _Fuck_ , that was today." Oikawa hummed a question. "Taiko festival in Miami. I was supposed to help set up." He heaved a sigh. "Don't answer it. She'll talk your ear off." Oikawa waited until the phone stopped ringing before flipping it open. "Snoop," Iwaizumi muttered, but didn't really protest.

"Are all your contacts in code?"

"Hm?"

"'Reality Check,' 'Loudmouth,' 'Red Eye,"' he read, skimming through his recent texts. Iwaizumi made a halfhearted grab for his phone, but Oikawa lifted it easily out of his reach. "Is 'Inkman' your dearly beloved? He's been blowing up your phone all night."

"He's my tattoo artist," Iwaizumi said.

"Your _what_?"

Iwaizumi grunted. "It might not even show anymore, but…" He waved a hand. "Turn on a light."

Oikawa shifted, sitting up straighter and reaching to turn on the car's overhead light. Iwaizumi hid his face in Oikawa's hip against the light, but after a moment Oikawa blinked away the brightness. "Oh," he said, soft and surprised, cool fingertips brushing along one of the fading branches etched on his skin. The tree covered his whole back, from shoulder to shoulder and down to the dip of his spine, the trunk of an oak with branches from a dozen different trees, each one a portrait of someone he wanted to carry with him.

"It fades every time I turn, so I have to get it touched up pretty often, but Aone never complains. Sort of a pet project. This is the first time I've missed an appointment, and he worries."

"What…" Oikawa started, then corrected, "Who is this?"

"Everyone who matters as of two months ago?" Iwaizumi said. "It changes, but…" He hooked an arm back over his shoulder, pointing at the two branches at the base of his neck. "Mom and Dad." He reached farther, fingertip following the blade of his left shoulder. "This is Spitfire and her mate. Inkman is the snowy one," he said, rolling his right shoulder to draw Oikawa's attention to it.

"This is them," Oikawa said quietly, fingertips trailing down his right shoulder blade, intertwined acacia and pine. Iwaizumi shivered, nodded.

"No matter where I am, I'm always leaving someone behind," he said quietly. "This lets me keep them closer."

Oikawa was quiet and still, the pool at the heart of him glassy smooth, deep and clear, jealousy and discontent swirling below the surface, slow to settle. "You're going to have a busy week," he said finally. Iwaizumi pushed himself up, frowning a question at Oikawa, but Oikawa just handed him back his phone. "You have a car to return, an appointment to reschedule, and a whole lot of congratulations to receive before you come back to take me to the movies on Friday night."

Iwaizumi beamed, smile growing to an uncontainable grin as he felt between the lines of what Oikawa was saying. "Thank you," he said, pushing up to kiss Oikawa on the lips.

"Don't be so _happy_ ," Oikawa grumbled. "You're going to give me a complex." But Iwaizumi didn't care. He crawled into Oikawa's lap, crowding him against the car door and kissing him, bright and jubilant, nipping and smooching until Oikawa relented and pulled him closer, kissing him slow. Even so, when he drew back, nudging his forehead gently against Iwaizumi's, he said, "You should go."

"At this point, I don't think anyone will notice if I stay the rest of the night," Iwaizumi said.

Oikawa smiled, a curve of lips that came with a slow shiver of melancholy. "You already have." Iwaizumi's brow furrowed, and Oikawa brushed the tip of his nose against his cheek. "It's almost dawn." He looked out the rear windshield of the car, out the garage door, and was startled to find the sky tinged with the first hint of morning light. When had that happened? "But you're coming back," Oikawa reminded him.

"I'm coming back," Iwaizumi repeated like a promise.

"And I'll be waiting," Oikawa said. "But not brooding," he added, before Iwaizumi could object. "Not pining. I have… amends to make here, too."

"How can I get in touch with you?" Iwaizumi asked, remembering Matt and Makki's anger at being unable to reach him, the echo of a crunch of plastic and electronics in Oikawa's fist.

But Oikawa waved a dismissive hand. "I have a spare, I just didn't think to set it up. Same number. Unless you need me to give it to you again."

Iwaizumi gave Oikawa's lower lip a reprimanding little bite. "I'll _call_."

"Your wallet and keys are in my pants pocket," Oikawa said, catching him with a quick peck before pushing him away with his feet. "Go on, before I get caught in the sun."

Iwaizumi reluctantly crawled out of the back seat of the car, gathering up clothes as he went. He started to fish his stuff out of Oikawa's pockets, then stopped, tucked it all back in, and put the pants on instead. He could feel Oikawa's eyes on him, searing, but he ignored it, turning Oikawa's shirt right side out and pulling it on. "You left my clothes in the woods, so I'm taking yours."

"You don't think your beaus will mind you showing up smelling like a vampire?"

"They're gonna get used to it," Iwaizumi said. The pants were a little too long and snug in the waist and rear, and the shirt was unexpectedly wide in the shoulders, but tight across his chest and arms. Interesting.

"I could get used to it," Oikawa said, pulling Iwaizumi over by his belt loop, tucking his phone in his pocket.

"Until Friday?" Iwaizumi asked.

"Unless you _really_ wanna stay," Oikawa said, nuzzling into his shirt.

He was surprised to realize that part of him did. But as long as he kept his life on hold, this wouldn't really be real. "Friday," he said, bending to press a kiss to the top of Oikawa's head. "I'll be here when you wake up."

"Oh, go already," Oikawa said petulantly, grabbing him by the hips, turning him around and pushing him away. "You can't come back if you won't _leave_."

Iwaizumi laughed, but let the momentum of Oikawa's shove carry him away. Behind him, Oikawa groaned, flopping backwards into the back seat of the car at the periphery of his awareness. But he stopped himself from looking back; he knew if he did, he wouldn't leave, and he had many miles to go and promises to keep and all that. He unlocked the Jeep and climbed into it, putting the keys in the ignition but flipping open his phone again before he started the engine. He had the whole drive ahead of him to work his way down his missed call list - to beg forgiveness from Saeko and let Aone know they were going to be adding to his tattoo, not just touching it up. But the one person that he couldn't make wait any longer was one of the only contacts in his list that, conspicuously, _hadn't_ messaged him in the last two days.

It was early, too early to call, really, but he knew TK would be sleeping with his phone in hand, ringer turned all the way up. He hesitated for just a moment, then started typing.

_Me: omw back_

The answer didn't come immediately - not for two minutes, almost exactly, like maybe he'd been watching the clock on the nightstand.

_CatBreath: To return the Jeep?_

Iwaizumi sighed.

_Me: For a night or two_

_Me: If that's okay?_

He resisted the urge to shut his phone, let TK make him sweat for another two minutes on the dot.

_CatBreath: Not my permission you need._

_Me: We talked._

_Me: I think he gets it._

_Me: He agreed to try to make it work_

The answer came without the pause this time.

_CatBreath: We're still getting the bed replaced, so it's the pit or nothing_

Relegated to their non-existent sofa. Ouch. But before he could respond, another message popped up.

_CatBreath: Dinner at Da Marco's?_

He smiled despite himself. TK couldn't be _that_ mad if he still wanted to wine and dine him.

_Me: Sounds great._

_Me: Can I borrow a suit?_

_CatBreath: We'll find you something. See you for breakfast?_

_Me: Yeah_

_CatBreath: k_

Normally, that would have been that. But…

_Me: Hey TK?_

_CatBreath: Hm?_

He typed, hesitated, hit send.

_Me: Love you_

He didn't say it enough.

A long pause, not by the clock.

_CatBreath: I know._

Iwaizumi laughed, rolled his eyes, started the car. But before he could pull out of the lot, his phone pinged again. He flipped it open to a message from Bo - a picture of TK, rumpled and sleepy against silk sheets, knuckle pressed to his lips hiding a smile, looking fondly at the phone in his hand. A single message followed: _We love you too._

He stared at the picture until it occurred to him that he was probably making the same dopey face. Then he saved it, went into his contacts, and scrolled down to _Tooru_ . He changed the contact name to _Spa Day_ , then hit call, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he backed the car up and pulled out of the parking lot. Oikawa answered just as he was turning onto the long lane that led back to the highway. " _Hajime?_ "

"Hey baby," Iwaizumi said with a grin. "Did you miss me?"

" _You haven't even_ left," he said indignantly.

"Yeah, but do you miss me?" He flipped on the turn signal, merging onto I-10 heading west.

" _Are you always this needy, Iwa-chan?_ " Oikawa asked. Across the growing distance between them, Iwaizumi could feel Oikawa stretch, reclining in the back seat of the car he hadn't bothered to leave. " _Because I'll have you know I value my independence,_ " he said, the last trailing off in a yawn.

He put the phone on speaker and clipped it to the stand on the dashboard. "Keep me company until the sun comes up?"

" _Mmm, only because you asked nicely,_ " Oikawa murmured, already weighted down by the sun rising in Iwaizumi's rearview mirror. He made a soft, sleepy sound, shifting, settling. " _I wouldn't want you to get lonely without me,_ " he said, voice a sleepy hum but louder, like he'd cradled the phone closer.

"No," he said with a soft smile, "we wouldn't want that." He could feel the morning pulling Oikawa under, heavy and irresistible. But it was peaceful, the first hint of dawn illuminating the road stretched out in front of him, the soft, steady sound of Oikawa's breathing blending with the familiar cadence of wheels turning on pavement, making the early morning highway feel a little less desolate, a little more like home.

He was almost certain Oikawa had fallen asleep completely when he mumbled, " _Hajime?_ "

"Hm?"

" _I do miss you,_ " he said, unguarded with drowsiness. " _But this is nice._ "

"Yeah," he said, looking out toward the horizon. "Yeah, it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hot diggity, Carrie and I have been working on this fic for ages. If you haven't already, please do check out [her half](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12243357/chapters/28669116) of this chapter! It's such a rush and relief to have it finally done and out in the world. If you want to drop in and yell about vampires, werewolves, or HQ, you can find me @ theshannonlewis on twitter and sometimes tumblr. Also if you're a lovely soul that's as invested in iwabokuro as I am, keep an eye out for the bokuro meetcute prequel I'm working on, and will add to this series as soon as it's done!

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't already, check out the Oikawa POV of this chap over [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12243357/chapters/27818151). Next chapter should be up in two weeks!


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